Friends Will Be Friends
by Sekana Katayama
Summary: The unplanned sequel to That's What Friends Are For! Featuring Felfe, the effeminate and useless night-elf rogue, and all of his friends: Kain, Yuren, Lance, Silya, Alyane, and... Liam? This is gonna be good. -M for language and future sexuality-
1. Chapter 1

The unplanned sequel to 'That's What Friends Are For' (and the 'Why Can't We Be Friends' series). I'm looking forward to writing this, and I hope somebody is still keeping up with the series!

**Recap: **An effeminate male night-elf rogue, Felfe, is constantly falling - sometimes literally - into troublesome situations. In one such circumstance, he meets Lord Kain, the leader of the Horde's largest raiding guild. Their friendship blossoms, and Felfe soon meets Guanji, a troll mage who is a good friend of the Alliance's top raiding guild and Kain's rival, Lancelot. Before too long, Kain and Lance reconcile, and Kain's second-in-command, an undead warrior called Yuren, begrudgingly 'befriends' Lance as well. Add to this Kain's typical blood-elf sister, Silya, and her seductive idol and the best temptress in town, Alyane... and the only thing left to complete this ridiculous soap opera is Liam, the blood-elf hunter who ends up obsessively pursuing Felfe and sabotaging Kain's guild as part of his evil plans!

Needless to say - as I'm sure you ALL have read the whole story - Liam pulls a disturbing suicide but is thwarted by Kain's resurrection, giving him a second chance to get things right. The guild is mended, Kain and Felfe finally admit their love for each other, Silya moves in with Alyane (whatever that means), Lance and Yuren remain something between friends and lovers, Guanji at last mentions a beautiful troll woman, and Liam ends up in a therapeutic institution, where he meets Nahir, his mentor and new object of fascination.

**Notes:** Parts of this first chapter are from 'Fixation', which takes place right after the events of the last chapter of 'That's What Friends Are For'. This places the new story as a direct sequel to 'That's What Friends Are For', right before the epilogue chapter. Also, the story has been 'updated' to a Wrath of the Lich King setting. Of course, Cataclysm comes out this year... sigh...

So, get ready to have all of your questions answered! What is Felfe's mother like? Will Liam ever have a healthy romantic relationship? Will Wrenn keep his vow of chastity and survive Paladin Camp? And is undead sex actually possible? Stay tuned, folks!

* * *

**Friends Will Be Friends**

**

* * *

**

Liam awoke in a state of complete and utter confusion. He sat up in a bed of placid white sheets, in a room with white walls and no windows. He was undressed except for a pair of loose, too-clean white pants, but there were no bandages, and no pain except the pain in his mind.

"Felfe…" He thought aloud, glancing around quickly, seeing only empty walls in the small room, no air, no windows, no door – wait, yes, but it was locked. They were always locked.

"What happened to me…?" He mumbled, rubbing at his temples. He had the strangest feeling, of both destruction and rebirth, drenched in sin and yet purified by something he could not name. He felt dead.

This was not Heaven, but he had not expected it to be. What startled him was that it did not seem like Hell. Everywhere was dull white, blurring his vision of its own accord, wrapping him up in its folds of towel-white brightness and stifling him, erasing him with its complete blankness, absorbing him into the void of white, white, white.

This was some sort of blinding prison, he concluded, shutting his eyes tightly against the encroaching whiteness. Perhaps purgatory, a sort of waiting room where he would be held until judged and weighed in light of his deeds? If so, he hoped for a fast decision, because right now even Hell sounded more endurable than this vast whiteness, slowly devouring his being.

Just how had he gotten here? Keeping his eyes squeezed shut still, he brought back the memories in painful bundles, reliving the blasphemy he had committed and the injustice he had staged, witnessing his own judgment and then salvation at the hands of the one he had thought was his greatest enemy. How had things become so?

No, best not to think about it. But he would rather not think about anything else. He kept seeing things from what he assumed was the day before – images in his mind, bits and pieces of his life floating by him again to remind him of their taint. He had really done it this time. He had started an insurgence, blockaded the city, captured the guildmaster and his royal sister, nearly killed an innocent member of the guild, kidnapped a certain night-elf, and then had begged for a mercy killing from the same man he had imprisoned. He couldn't understand it all any longer. This place, this Purgatory, had completely displaced him.

He sat straight up to the sound of the door opening. A split-second decision told him not to reveal his panic, to stay calm in the face of the wrath he had no doubt incurred, to be stone, smooth-faced even as his punishment was stated and he was shackled to demon horses and dragged down to the Underworld.

Face a calculating and emotionless mirror, he rose from his bed and at last locked eyes with the being that had come into his prison. And at once, despite his careful effort, his self-control drained away into the white, white tiles, his mask breaking into a thousand pieces to reveal his youth, his awe, his reverent fear.

"An angel…" He rasped, throat suddenly rusting from the inside, making him aware of his thirst.

* * *

"So you took him to the Psychiatric Institute in Silvermoon?" Lance asked conversationally as he munched on a Dalaran brownie, much to Yuren's obvious consternation. "Do you think it'll help?"

"Don't know, don't _care_," the undead warrior scowled, and the next moment he had snatched the unfinished dessert out of his friend's hand. "And for the last time, do _not _bring those... those _commercial _food items in here! Do you know that those vendors bake in _bulk? _It makes me _sick_."

"Right, of course." But Lance was hiding a smile behind his forced frown, and when Yuren rose and went to discard the brownie properly, he let out a low chuckle.

"You think this is _funny_, Lance?"

Lance's reaction was something between hasty repentance and surprise at hearing Yuren say his name. "Ah... of course not... Yuren." He put the lightest of emphasis on the man's name to see if he had noticed his slip-up.

To the paladin's satisfaction, Yuren did indeed notice his mistake, and he backtracked with flustered hand gestures. "I... I knew you would... ah, you would pay attention... if I called you by name."

"Is that why?" Lance grinned widely, something he knew would unsettle Yuren further. "I don't think you meant to... I think it just _slipped out_."

"That's p-preposterous!" Yuren said, and he turned away with his arms folded, in a move he had no idea echoed of blood-elven 'daytime dramas'. And he said no more.

"You know, if you don't want to say my name," Lance said off-offhandedly, meandering from the table to right behind the unsuspecting warrior. "You could use some other word..."

Yuren stiffened as he sensed a presence at his back, warrior's instinct kicking in and telling him to turn around and immediately take aggro on the target before it got the jump-start on him. But something froze him, and it wasn't an ice-block. Of course, it couldn't be, since there were no mages around.

"Like..." Lance leaned in and placed gloved hands lightly at Yuren's waists as his lips brushed undead ears. "_Darling._"

Yuren gagged, and the sheer shock of what his friend had dared to do had yet another stun effect on him. He felt like he was being stunlocked by some expert rogue, given no openings during which to escape the endless torture. No words could describe this humiliation.

Lance, though triumphant at his victory over the normally caustic undead, was miffed at the lack of response he was getting, having anticipated a much louder reaction. "... Did I finally render you speechless?"

This, at last, prompted an automatic response from Yuren, catatonic state or no. "W-what! Of course not, I... I was simply... you... I... damn you and your... GAH!"

Lance chuckled and stepped back from his victim, attempting to give him some space to 'recover' in. "I'm glad you have such strong feelings for me, Yuren."

The warrior stiffened again, but this time the ensuing silence was oddly awkward, unlike the ones they tended to share nowadays. And it stayed that way, causing Lance to shift uneasily and wonder if he had said something wrong. That is, more wrong than usual.

"Stop saying my name," Yuren muttered irritably, and he started to haltingly clean up the kitchen after their unconventional breakfast, wiping down the counter with a hand that Lance noticed was shaking slightly.

"Why?" Lance asked carefully, seeing the warrior struggling to find more clean-up jobs to take care of rather than face him. "Is there some sort of... reason... you don't like it?"

"It's _strange_. Don't call me anything." And Yuren moved on to the sink, where he scrubbed the sides even though he had wiped it down the night before. Something was rotten in the state of Tirisfal.

"Yuren..." Lance began quietly, slipping a chiding tone into his voice just slightly.

Yuren stopped cleaning. He turned around. He faced the paladin, his face a mask of coldness. "I just told you _not _to do that."

"Is there something you're afraid of?" He said, and that was when Hellfire Peninsula broke loose.

The undead warrior seemed to hesitate, lose himself in thought, and then he came to with a startled recognition. He turned around and walked through the doorway, not with his usual aggressive pacing, but in a quiet way that spoke of great troubles ahead.

Lance could only stand there with a frown becoming permanently etched in his features.

* * *

Delicate pale skin, shimmering, nearly transparent hair of liquid gold cascading over his shoulders – yes, it was a 'he', if an angel could be said to possess such a human thing as gender – and framing a perfect face with bright, ice-blue eyes, eyes that knew everything about him simply by reading his own. The angelic messenger was dressed in a silken white robe with gold embroidery, but even the fine garment was only a simple robe, garnering no attention when seen on this perfectly sculpted figure, slender and yet giving the appearance of inner strength.

Liam recovered half of his senses and knelt, instinct telling him that he could not stand before such a mystical creature, no doubt sent by the spirits of judgment themselves.

And then the angel spoke, and his voice was soothing in its serenity. "Liam…?"

"Yes, your… your Holiness?" Liam stumbled, unsure of the proper way to address the seraph.

If he had not been keeping his head bowed in reverence, he would have seen the perplexed expression that crossed the angel's face before he replied, "Please rise. There is no need to stand on ceremony."

Liam eagerly got to his feet, eyes drawn to his guide and yet ashamed to look at such an immortally beautiful creation, unworthy of the joy given to him by such an action.

"I am taking you to another room for a preliminary assessment." The angel informed him, with a slight nod of the head so very graceful in execution. He turned and proceeded to glide back through the doorway, and Liam was greatly surprised to notice no visible wings.

Regardless, this 'assessment' he spoke of… it had to be Divine Judgment. He was about to be stripped of all secrets, searched for everything he had ever done, shown in a true light for all his wickedness. Would they find anything to redeem him? There could be no such option, for he himself had already searched many a time, in vain, for some such salvation, a quality that he possessed that made all of his vile ventures dust in the wind. He supposed that this next step, then, would bring him to where he belonged at last: the depths of Nowhere, the land of evil and spite, the Underworld.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as quietly as possible as he dutifully followed the angel through countless empty hallways. Oh so empty, like his room, all white and empty, like his soul. Perhaps that was a bit much, though. But his soul might as well be empty rather than, soon, chained to his enslaved body in the pits of Hell. These thoughts were making him agitated, nervous, and he desperately tried to calm himself despite the utter uselessness of such an action.

'Gotta calm down, gotta… gotta calm down. Don't wanna scare the angel or anything. Nope, don't wanna do that. Calm down! Make a good impression. First impressions are important. Right. Really important. Calm DOWN!'

Abruptly his guide halted, and they entered a similar room to his own, except this one, despite its erased walls, contained a few small cushions, by the size of them chairs of sorts, and what was more, they were colored. Yes. Besides the angel, they were the first objects of color in this place. Vibrant green and blue and gold silks made them very fine seating cushions indeed, and if he had not been in such esteemed company he might have pounced on one immediately, such was the relief he felt from the color entering his world.

The angel turned to him with an expression of sincere apology. "We are still renovating, as it is. Please be seated."

Liam inwardly thought it strange that Purgatory was being renovated, but gave it little thought as he sat down – actually sat down! – on one of the oh-so-valuable and colored cushions as the angel closed the door behind him.

Then, with a rustle of silk the angel reclined on one of the other floor cushions, and fixed his gaze on Liam once again, with that calculating and slightly curious look that Liam himself had been attempting but had failed at, instead having settled on just looking lost and a little confused.

The angel suddenly took out a notepad and a quill pen from somewhere on his person. "Your name is Liam."

"Er… yes." Liam answered nervously, watching as the angel's omniscient eyes flickered back up to his at his answer.

"Are you having any memory problems?" The angel inquired methodically.

"No, I'm… okay." Liam answered, stomach turning upside-down as those eyes drifted back up yet again to him.

"Then you must know why you are here…?" His guide questioned carefully, almost soothingly, eyes catching his and he felt as if he was being held gently, comforted by delicate arms.

Liam swallowed, took a breath, and confessed his confusion. "Actually, I'm… uh… having trouble remembering the part where I… died…"

The angel's eyebrows rose so high they appeared to be trying to merge with his hairline, and his beautiful eyes widened in pure surprise. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

Liam tried to remedy this, knowing that most people probably knew very well their deaths, seeing as there was that whole 'seeing-your-life-flash-before-your-eyes' ordeal, and seeing your body lying there as your spirit left it and all of that. "Look, I just can't remember, I'm sorry! The other people you get must all know theirs and everything, but I-"

The angel managed to calm himself, but his worry emerged much more obviously as he asked Liam a very serious question, "What situation do you believe you are in, Liam?"

Liam, having been cut off, looked back at his angelic guide blankly for a moment before thinking and replying truthfully, "Well… Purgatory, right? Judgment and all that?"

The angel shook his head slowly, as if to clear it of some sort of remaining shock, and then fixed his charge with an expression of utmost sympathy. "Liam… you are not in Purgatory."

Liam blinked. Then he looked around, put together the angel and the whiteness everywhere and came to another conclusion. "Hey, I made it into Heaven? Never thought that would happen."

He glanced back in time to see the angel with a hand over his eyes, from exasperation or emotion he could not tell. When the hand was removed, the still-mystified and now-wearied angel at last clarified things for him.

"Liam, I will tell you this as gently as possible." His sky-blue eyes once again caught Liam's in their kind grasp.

Liam gulped, knowing the words that would come next. He had definitely not made it into Heaven. He knew that already.

"You are not dead."

* * *

_'You're... you're not dead!' _

Silya shuddered in the afternoon sunlight, recalling the nightmarish events of the night before. She let her feet dangle in the cool water of the lake outside Silvermoon City, watching the light play off the water's surface like millions of tiny diamonds. Girl's best friend, right...

She felt tears on her face again, and felt abruptly fond of this lake, where she had cried more than once, and both times for the sake of that woman, her idol, her mentor... Alyane. Thinking her name sent her emotions every which way, and she ended up burying her face in her hands, trying to make some sense out of it all.

Preemptive sorrow at the loss that had been rendered obsolete, overwhelming joy and relief at the safety of her mentor, and a frustrating mess of other feelings that she could not decipher. She had sobbed in Alyane's arms the night before, upon their reunion and the end of Liam's insurrection, and yet she was still in shock, still suffering the effects of a death that had never occurred. Well, it had, but Alyane lived again due to her well-timed soulstone.

Silya sighed and brushed her hair away from her face as she straightened up again. Perhaps she ought to go swimming. She looked down at her attire with distaste - she hadn't changed clothes since the day before, a first for her - and systematically began removing her robes and boots. Down to her decidedly plain undergarments, tasteful but uninteresting sky-blue, she thought for a moment and then gave the lake's mirror surface a shrug.

"Why not," she said to herself under her breath.

The water was colder than she had expected, but it felt nice on her bare skin, and she ducked under the surface and entered a world of humming silence.

* * *

Liam came out of shock to see the angel – or whatever he was – hovering over him with much concern, shaking his shoulder carefully to bring him back to consciousness after what had most likely been some sort of faint, though he didn't like to think of it as that.

"Are you all right? That must have been a shock." The angelic man sympathized, back on his own seat now that Liam seemed all right.

Liam sat up, still on his colored cushion, and reassessed his world. "I'm not dead… I can't believe it…!"

"Good news, I am sure." The angel – man – whatever – managed a weak smile.

"So this is… where?" Liam asked, having been stuck in his illogical mindset for too long to consider realistic possibilities. "And who are you?"

"This is a recovery center." The man stated smoothly, composure unwavering now that the shock had passed. "I am your assigned mentor, Nahir."

"Nahir…" Liam tried out the name experimentally, liking the way it sounded in the air. "Sounds like an angel's name to me."

"I am no more an angel than you, and fortunately your divine judgment is still far off." Nahir attempted to wrap up the situation's misunderstandings in one concise sentence, and managed it as Liam was beginning to comprehend the real world again.

"So what am I here for?" Liam abruptly reentered logical life with a fill-in-the-blank situation. "This… recovery center?"

"We are offering you guidance, the chance to live a better life, Liam." Nahir explained automatically, no doubt it was something he explained often. "This is all for your own improvement."

Liam struggled to understand the embellished-sounding words in some real context, and figured that this must be some sort of place for people who were not right in the head. "So I'm here because I'm insane?"

"Liam. We do not use that word here." Nahir said, politely cautioning, in the same way someone would scold a small child, and this grated on Liam in a way that seemed impossible for all the respect he had formerly held for the man he had thought an angel. "Confused, perhaps, lost in a world of their own."

"Well, I'm not. So why am I here?" Liam asked quickly, almost rudely, as he was beginning to come back to himself and the old patterns of things, namely administrations and him, and the way they always seemed to think he had some sort of 'problem'.

"Let me say this only once, and briefly." Nahir stated briskly, all business unlike the moments before when he had shown human concern. "You are here because, had you not been taken here, you would be in the dungeons indefinitely."

"That." Liam remembered with a rapidly drying throat. "Damn."

"Language." Nahir reproached him gently, and then he took out his notepad and quill pen once again. "Now, this is your preliminary assessment. It will define what course your treatment will take, so be very clear and truthful in all manners."

Liam, although somewhat ruffled by the way his supposed 'mentor' was viewing him as some sort of unappealing dining room about to be refurbished, nodded as civilly as possible. He was going to make a good impression, after all, even if this guy was not nearly as human as he had thought before – when he was not human anyway.

"I am going to say a word, and you will speak the first thing that comes to mind. Try to keep it to two words and under." Nahir explained their exercise, and Liam had to stop himself from groaning.

This was that weird thing where the physician would throw a whole list of emotion-inducing words, along with some wildcards and frivolities, at the unsuspecting patient, who would inadvertently reveal much of their psychological troubles merely by stating their mind's connections at different words. It was a startlingly effective practice, and unfortunately Liam felt bound to tell the truth in this case, for it would be even more difficult not to.

"Mother." Nahir stated tonelessly.

"Huh?" Liam woke from his thoughts late, too late to notice it had already begun.

"Liam, you are supposed to say the first word that occurs to you." Nahir looked like he was trying not to sigh. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Liam nodded casually. "Sure I am."

"Mother." Nahir said once more, eyes fixed on Liam's, reading his book of thoughts.

"Uh…" Liam hesitated, mind swirling in many directions at once, fear and anger and pain mixing together in a disturbing spiral. "Not getting a clear word for that one."

One of the pale golden eyebrows rose significantly, and he looked a little annoyed, if possible. "We'll get back to that one later, then. Let's start with some easier ones."

"All right." Liam said unnecessarily, more to say something than anything, to keep this from seeming like he was at the healer's room answering questions about how often he ate and what type of monsters he generally fought.

"… Toothbrush."

"Hygiene."

"Cats."

"Panther."

"Food."

"Rations?"

"Healers."

"Annoying."

"Bread."

"Water."

"Axes."

"Heavy."

"Alliance."

"Weirdos."

"Night-elves."

"…" Liam tried to divert his mind from the obvious course of thought, and hesitantly spit out, "Purple."

Nahir did not seem at all satisfied with this answer, nor with his apparent pause, but he said nothing of it as he went on with his mission. "Stranglethorn Vale."

"Death."

"Paladins."

"Pain."

Nahir looked up abruptly at this odd answer, scritched something quickly on the notepad with slight interest, and pretended he had not even momentarily halted his interrogation. "Muffins."

"Yum."

"Rabbits."

"Fox."

"Green."

"Poison."

"Rogues."

"Silly."

Nahir raised an eyebrow and continued with the pretense of boredom. "Mother."

Liam fought down the growing irritation at the process and bit out, "I told you, I don't have one for that."

"All right," Nahir conceded, and Liam thought he had been excused from that particular duty until his guide threw the next words into the open. "Why don't you describe her instead. Your mother."

Liam was very tempted to snap back with, 'why don't I describe your mother?' but instead clenched his jaw tightly for a moment until he was certain he could speak rationally. "Not much to describe."

Nahir nodded patiently, much too patiently, reminding Liam that he had all the time in the world to listen to Liam fuss – after all, he was paid well for it.

"She's just like every other blood-elf mother you hear about." He said casually, almost roughly, without regard for the disdain that made its way into his voice. "Thinks a kid can tie down whatever guy she's set her eyes on, and when she finds out it's not working… she gives it to the orphanage. Motherly instinct only lasts so long with them, you know?"

"Go on." Nahir said quietly, too politely.

"With what?" Liam snapped. "That's all there is to it."

"You must have memories of her…?" Nahir said as if by rote, still writing in that damned notepad of his, little movements of his hand making the quill twitch nervously as it sensed Liam's swiftly expanding fury directed at its frail body.

"She… always said I was a good kid." Liam mumbled, trying to forget who he was talking to, and the scritch-scritch-scritch of the stupid quill pen. "But in that way that's like, she knows she's supposed to say it but she doesn't mean it. She always said it until the day she gave me away."

"And what happened then?" Nahir prodded emotionlessly, so business-like it hurt to look at him any longer.

"She told me I was a wicked child, and I shouldn't have been born." Liam tried to disguise his boiling emotions with a short laugh, but it sounded painful even to his ears. "And it's kinda funny, 'cause it was the first thing she ever said to me that she meant."

The scritch-scritch-scritch sound of the quill pen made it hard for him to organize his thoughts further, and with all the confused emotions swirling through his head he couldn't even manage to look mildly composed as he finally growled, "Put… the notepad… away."

Nahir's eyes flickered to him with surprise, and his delicate pink lips opened, no doubt to say something to the contrary, before he was cut off by Liam in an entirely callous way.

"I won't talk if you're writing in that damn thing." He felt utterly humiliated, even so far, by this whole situation, and he had to put on a tough face to pretend he was only annoyed by it, not unsettled and anxious. "You can write it all down later, I don't care. Just not while I'm talking, yeah?"

To his lasting astonishment, Nahir put away the notepad and pen without additional complaints, and visibly relaxed as he said, "Please, go on."

Liam's mouth worked silently for a moment, until he got the courage necessary to begin anew, and he just let out whatever felt like the right thing to say until the words just began jumping out of his mouth of their own accord. "So, I mean, you know it only got worse once she left me there, with all the other kids like me. Soon enough, half-grown, I joined some shady group, did all sorts of bad stuff. It was what I was supposed to do, at least that's what it felt like. Then I had a few rough turns and decided to get outta that place, ended up in Stranglethorn becoming a hunter. Never really knew why, I guess I wanted something that wouldn't disappear on me. That's where I got Shiya'mal – my cat, you know – and he's the only thing that stayed with me. I managed to get myself together enough to join the guild, got pretty high up in there and started feeling pretty good about myself."

"And then I met him. You know who I'm talking about, the night-elf. Probably the worst thing that happened to me, hope no one ever tells him that. I couldn't think about anything after that but him." Liam actually sighed at this point, forgetting himself, before he snapped back into the present and his eyes darted suspiciously to Nahir, who appeared to be still listening with polite interest and no notepad. Not that that made it much easier.

"You must mean Felfe." Nahir said innocently, and it was so very obvious to Liam that his 'mentor' had not only heard the name before, but knew every publicly declared detail regarding him and his own patient's connection.

"Don't pretend you don't know, I hate that." Liam muttered, and was gratified when Nahir's expression tightened somewhat, as if he was starting to get offended by the way his patient was being callous with him. "Everyone knows by now."

"I wouldn't say everyone. But you are right that I have much knowledge of both of you." Nahir cautiously conceded, looking almost on-guard now, very much different from his previous state of polite apathy, and much preferred by Liam.

"Then there's not much to tell." Liam mumbled, throat starting to feel dry as he fought the emotion that threatened to show itself. "I met him, wanted him, couldn't have him, so I did all sorts of crazy stuff to get him, and in the end I figured out what I was doing and decided not to go through with all of it."

"And the suicide attempt…?" Nahir prodded, not at all gently. Those words could never be said gently, because they were not careful words, they were bold and distasteful, especially said to the one they regarded.

"I don't know. I guess I didn't have anything to live for. Figured I'd just be killed for everything I did anyway, and I didn't want to face it. Would you?" Liam asked daringly, dangerously irritated at the way this 'mentor', his former-angel-turned-inquisitor, was handling this supposedly therapeutic process.

"… I do not know. I would hope never to put myself in such a hopeless situation." Nahir mused, caught off-guard and off-track from the exercise, unaware of the painful words he had just uttered.

Liam refused to say anything back to that sort of reply, and instead tried to calm himself with thoughts of being back in that wonderful, white-on-white prison room. It seemed oh-so-inviting compared to being in the presence of this… this… this person! The uppity bastard thought he was helping, thought he could understand.

… So much for calm.

* * *

Kain and Felfe sat side-by-side on a sofa in the sitting room under Undercity, a phrase which made a lot more sense than their situation. Though the artificial sunlight was streaming through the windows pleasantly, both were uneasy for very similar reasons, and Kain knew the full explanation.

Liam had tricked Felfe into kissing him, as he had told Kain, so that was what was making the poor night-elf fret currently. What Felfe didn't know was that Kain was already aware of this, and had also had a kiss stolen from him by Liam, with the excuse of equal treatment. So really, this awkwardness was wholly Kain's fault for not bringing up the subject yet, as he knew all about it.

Felfe unfortunately seemed about ready to bring the subject up himself, which made Kain wonder if he ought to wait and see what the other elf said before relating his knowledge of the situation. But he felt that it was wrong to test him that way, and if he hadn't felt so humiliated admitting that it had taken him so long to discuss it... Well, it was a ridiculous but vicious cycle.

"Kain..." Was Felfe going to say it? "Kain, I..."

"No, it's... I know," he interrupted smoothly, placing a hand on Felfe's shoulder. "I already know."

This appeared to puzzle Felfe, and he fidgeted slightly before saying, "You... know?"

"Yes. He told me." Kain tried his best to give Felfe a comforting and sympathetic look, preparing to explain his story and the 'equalizing' technique that had caused Liam to kiss him as well.

Felfe seemed really confused, now, and he eyed Kain with nothing short of bewilderment. "He?"

"Liam," Kain said quietly, knowing the name was a touchy subject for all of them now, the morning after the storm. "He told me about how he... kissed you."

"Oh! That's what you're talking about," Felfe said, and smiled, which caught Kain off guard. "Yes, he did... kiss me..."

Though startled that Felfe was not bothered by this admission, Kain went on as planned, "Ah. Well, he... he kissed me, as well. Something about equalizing... things."

"He kissed you?" Felfe said incredulously. And then he... giggled. "Oh, biscuits! That's... hehehe..."

Kain, though he had been easily serious for this conversation, found himself abruptly suppressing a smirk. "Well, yes. I... thought you would be more... affected by all this?" It came out as a question, though he hadn't intended it to.

"Well, no..." Felfe brought himself back to semi-seriousness and smiled, calm. "I knew he wasn't... okay... I just hope he can understand what made him do all that."

Kain at once understood that the whole 'forbidden kiss' conversation hadn't been what was causing Felfe nervousness. This prompted a reevaluation of exactly what was bothering Felfe, seeing as it wasn't what he had thought it was. This was all becoming very confusing.

"Then... what was it you were going to say earlier?" Kain hinted not-so-subtly, and wondered where all of his blood-elven charms had gone since he had met the adorable night-elf.

"Oh, th-that!" Felfe squeaked, voice rising several octaves. "It's... it's nothing..."

Kain saw the blush spreading across night-elven cheeks, the way Felfe consequently began to stare at the ground, and his blood-elf senses alerted him to the truth. Felfe was worried about 'it'. Much like their days in Stranglethorn Valley. A wave of relief washed over him as he regained just a bit of his former glory... blood-elf pride, that is.

For whatever reason, the recovery of some of his dignity prompted his hand to snake around Felfe's waist of its own accord. Felfe's gaze immediately left the floor and slowly and cautiously rose to meet his, even as the night-elf began to tremble despite his obvious effort.

"K-Kain?" Bright night-elf eyes looked straight into his as Kain pulled him closer. He bit his lip nervously even as his hands contemplated where they were supposed to rest. "I..."

Kain leaned over and kissed him. He melted into it, intoxicating sweetness and the smoothness of Kain's lips against his overwhelming him steadily. He couldn't stop his body from trembling as Kain's other hand came to rest at his waist, and the two palms massaged up and down his sides while he kissed him.

Somehow, when they pulled away he was nearly on Kain's lap, and this only fueled his flushed face until it turned him a bright troll-mohawk red. Kain only smirked down at him, full-level blood-elf charm dizzying him.

"You want to try it, but you aren't certain..." Kain assessed calmly, feeling oddly objective considering his previous anxiety over the whole matter, his plans of the perfect romantic evening... "Is that it?"

"I... yes." Felfe tried to will his blush away as he answered, but Kain's hands were still at his sides, distracting him. "Th-that's it."

"There is no hurry, Felfe." And Kain leaned down and gave him a brief kiss on the lips to affirm his patience. "Do not worry about anything."

* * *

Nahir startled him slightly, bringing him back from his furious thoughts. "That will be enough for today, Liam."

Liam didn't feel the need to reply to that, either, and instead nodded the barest detectable amount, and got to his feet along with the ex-angel. He noted very belatedly that he had not been wearing more than those loose pants for the entire meeting, and his mentor had not even mentioned this somewhat odd circumstance. Liam himself didn't care what he was wearing – he was a hunter, suited to living in the wilderness, and after all, he had killed lions with his bare hands (sort of) in the Barrens at one point, so he was comfortable even completely naked. But he had to wonder why Nahir hadn't said anything about it.

"Come along. I will take you back to your room for tonight." The blonde elf strode to the door, and motioned to Liam politely – always so polite it was sickening – for him to follow.

Liam followed mutely, and then time sped up until they reached his room, at which point Nahir was so kind as to open the door, show him in, and stand in the doorway for a few moments, as if to see if he was all right. As if!

"Don't look at me like that." Liam grumbled irritably as he made his way towards the white, white bed.

"I wasn't aware I was looking at you strangely." Nahir countered coolly, one eyebrow raised delicately, and Liam could sense the superiority wafting off his mentor, to the point that he spun around angrily.

"Listen, I-" About to explode at the man who was supposed to be helping him, he faltered at the look in those soft green eyes. The eyes that contradicted everything else – his posture defensive and slightly rigid, his expression disapproving, but those eyes! Those glowing eyes saw straight through his anger, saw his despair, and held some sort of appreciative sympathy. And Liam couldn't say anything to that.

He wanted to turn around, just pretend he hadn't almost said those furious words. As if to erase the things he had done, he shrugged, and suddenly wondered what he was doing. What was he doing in this place? He was all alone, alone, alone in this white room, though Nahir was still standing there, he was always alone.

"Are you all right?" The quiet inquiry came out of nowhere, and Liam wouldn't have guessed it was Nahir speaking if he hadn't been staring at him in disoriented confusion.

He tried to gulp down the nervousness that had suddenly sprang up from some hidden place, but it wasn't working, so he managed to say awkwardly, "… Yeah."

"Then I will be going." Nahir said softly, and turned to leave the room.

Lightning-fast, Liam reached out and seized a delicate wrist, feeling like he needed the other to stay, to stay there and look at him with those sympathetic eyes forever. Just that would have been enough.

Nahir jerked back to seize his eyes with bright, stunned ones, flickering down to where his firm grip held a pale arm without mercy, stopping him from all movement. "… Liam?"

Liam felt so many emotions flowing through him at once that he didn't know how to sort them all out – the confusion that had persisted since the start of his day at this strange place, the irritation and frustration at his new and not improved situation, the awe at the angelic guide he had placed his trust in, the betrayal he had immediately felt when he realized the angel was only another uncaring mentor, supposed to solve all of his problems, the anger and the desperation to leave this place, and above all the strong, strong feeling almost like passion that infused his blood like a million parasites, demanding something unrestrained, ridiculous, and yet necessary.

He felt as if he might yell, cry, hit Nahir as hard as he could, or even worse… push him against the doorway and kiss him until… until sometime. He couldn't think, not at all.

"Liam, are you all right?" Nahir repeated, not making any move to brush off his patient's steely hold on his wrist. His eyes showed a fair amount of worry now, perhaps at his own well-being. A smart one, Nahir. He seemed to know he could be in danger, and he was right.

Luckily for both of them, his words woke up Liam from the waterfall drenching his mind, and he released Nahir as if he had just realized he was sticking his hand in a vat of boiling poison.

"Uh… I wanted to ask…" Liam scrambled for an excuse, however implausible. "I wanted to ask… if…"

Nahir waited patiently as his charge nervously came up with some semblance of an explanation, nodding encouragingly at all the right times.

"This room… it's too white." Liam gestured anxiously at the white walls, white floor, white bed. "I was wondering if, I dunno, you could… put something in here? That's not white, I mean…?"

Nahir seemed puzzled by the request, but he saw the whiteness, and figured Liam had something of a point. "I will be back in a few minutes' time. Will you be all right until then?"

"Yeah." Liam said hastily, about to lose his breath to some unknown and powerful force, wondering why in the world he was such an idiot.

Nahir left and closed the door behind him, and Liam was wondering why in all of Azeroth and Outlands that he had these feelings about his therapist. Yes, he was stunningly attractive, but then, that could be said for many blood-elves. What bothered Liam was that Nahir did not fit his usual 'type', did not fill that cookie-cutter mold that the ones he went after always snapped into immediately.

Is he timid, shy, and generally afraid of doing something wrong?

Is he adorable and fragile, like a doll easily broken?

Would he look nice chained to a dungeon wall, completely helpless?

Liam was positive that Nahir did not fit into any of these 'yes' categories. In fact, he almost contradicted them as thoroughly as anyone in recent times had. Anyone, that is, with whom Liam had any interest. Why should he be attracted to a cold, overly-business-minded therapist ('mentor', they said, pfft!) who, while beautiful, was obviously not shy, helpless, or the type to scream at any point in life, regardless of circumstance.

So Liam tried to calm himself, repeating to his unheeding mind that this Nahir was not his type, and he was only desperate at this point, desperate enough to make anything look good. If he were really to seek some sort of opportunity here, and if by some absurd chance something worked out, they were hardly a good match in personalities, since after only a few hours he had wanted to murder him right there in the seating room.

'This is stupid, forget it!' Liam groaned mentally. 'You don't like him at all, you hate him! You hate him so much, you want him dead! Yeah, that's it. Dead.'

The unsuspecting Nahir reentered carrying something colorful, and Liam hopped off the bed to examine it, pretending very convincingly that he had not been thinking exceedingly strange thoughts about Nahir, all the while noting the qualities of this 'present' – no, couldn't think of it as a present, more like a peace offering – that Nahir had brought him.

It was similar to the cushions they had been sitting on in the other room. In fact, it could have been one of the cushions they had been sitting on in the other room. It was bright green silk with golden embroidery and a few gold tassels. Liam was greatly relieved by its vibrant color, and took it gently from Nahir with much inner gratefulness.

"Thanks." He said hesitantly, and stood there awkwardly waiting for Nahir to say something officious and polite, and then leave.

"… I am told that your cat is in the stables." Nahir said, as if to the air, because he didn't seem to be addressing Liam directly, and for once, for some odd reason, was not looking at him, but rather at the wall. "You do not have to worry."

Liam was moved by this gesture of comfort, being that Shiya'mal was the only thing dear to him in the World with the possible exception of Felfe, who was out of reach anyway. "I… thank you… that's good."

"Tomorrow, then." Nahir turned to leave at last, but Liam couldn't help making a fool of himself at least once more.

"Nahir!" He called out pathetically, and the blood-elf turned around one more time, silently questioning. "It will be you tomorrow, right?"

"I am your mentor Liam, and no one else." And with that line in place, he bestowed upon Liam a faint smile, barely noticeable, that stayed in Liam's mind far after the door had been closed, and he had sat back down blankly on the bed, clutching the emerald pillow like it held the answer to all of life's mysteries.

Why the smile? And since when did he care if someone smiled at him?

* * *

**Well? I hope I'm not too rusty after the long break!**


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, and now for a complete chapter of new content and a lot more of people who aren't Liam. Hehe.

**Notes: **Yes, the original setting of 'Why Can't We Be Friends' was the Burning Crusade expansion, but unfortunately time changes all things. I'm writing this one as if it takes place during Wrath of the Lich King, though this won't change anything from the older fics (yet?). Sigh... I really don't wanna think about how Cataclysm will make this sound outdated again...

**Notes: **Why do I feel like Silya is always getting wet? Last chapter, the lake... this chapter, the rain? Odd.

* * *

**Chapter Two **

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* * *

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"... And Liam has officially apologized to the entire Guild for this." Kain stood at the front of the large sitting room, eyes moving carefully over the various guild members seated in the many, many chairs lining the walls and creating perfectly symmetrical rows on each side of the long runway carpet. Silvermoon had a taste for decadence, and this was clearly evident in the way the room was laid out and the artistically spiraling columns.

The members of the guild wore expressions of anything from shame to irritation to relief. One troll rogue grinned and clapped appreciatively while the tauren druid next to him donned a sour face. On the whole, however, it seemed that the guild members were more confused than anything; how could they not be when they had been seduced into playing Liam's games up until two nights ago? They were now either accepting Kain's explanation of the events and of Liam's admission of his own guilt, or they were forming their own conspiracies beyond what Liam had told them. But Yuren, who sat in the front row, was oddly devoid of emotion, and he looked to be paying more attention to the embossed walls than to Kain's announcements.

"I hope that my words have clarified current events for all of you, and I intend to begin putting a great deal of effort into revitalizing this guild," he finished confidently and was rewarded with a satisfactory level of polite applause. With an elegant bow, he ended his speech and sat down next to Yuren, who rose and took the stage as per usual.

"Ahem." The undead warrior cleared his throat, a frivolity to be sure, and tonelessly recited the list of raids coming up in the next month. There were a few groans heard in strategic places, but for the most part the crowd had about as much reaction as Yuren himself.

When Yuren at last dismissed the meeting, he proceeded towards the doorway without so much as a glance at Kain, who followed the warrior as quickly as he could without drawing attention from the guildmates who were also exiting. Brows furrowed slightly as he wondered at the warrior's odd behavior, he began to catch up to him and at last was walking at his side, guildmaster and guildmaster's assistant and closest platonic relationship.

"Is something wrong?" he asked bluntly, having been on the receiving end of this kind of treatment all too many times.

Yuren must have noticed the intended similarity, as he scowled a little less frighteningly than he might have and said, "Nothing that will affect you."

The lack of poisonous sarcasm in his words pointed to a greater problem than Kain had anticipated, and he was forced to act gently. "I will always discuss anything that is on your mind, as your guildmaster."

Yuren scoffed.

"And as your friend."

Yuren slowed and then halted, not turning to face Kain but acknowledging him just the same, shifting uneasily as his undead eyes glanced around without really seeing anything. "I... do not want to burden you with my troubles."

"I should prefer it if you do," Kain said smoothly, making full use of his blood-elven charisma to persuade his friend into sharing his problems. And his secrets, of course. Blood-elves of both sexes were notoriously hungry for gossip, whether they shared it or hoarded it all to themselves.

Yuren made a noise between a sigh and a groan and then continued walking. "If you insist."

* * *

There wasn't really any particular reason for rain to exist. Silya was thoroughly fed up with the infrequent showers that visited Tirisfal at the most inopportune times, and right now she would have rather caused the withering of thousands of flora than have her silky, shining hair turned into a miserable pile of sopping wet mess. And her new robes and boots squelched incessantly as she at last made it to Undercity, not at all intact.

Normally she wouldn't have minded quite as much, but lately she was different, she thought more. And the thought of returning to her quarters - with Alyane's on the same hallway - looking like this made her want to sink into the muddy ground once and for all. Alyane wouldn't suffer this fate for anything, and she certainly wouldn't approve of it in her student. A pang of hurt alerted Silya to the fact that she might not even be Alyane's student any longer, at least not after the nightmares had transformed her into a sleepless, hallucinating burden for those few days.

Oddly, the events regarding Liam had not given her nightmares more material, and she had stopped having dreams altogether. It was a blessing of sorts, though it wasn't necessarily related. But she had no idea what Alyane's view of her was now, and she dared not ask directly. Her teacher was not a patient woman, nor was she satisfied with stating anything bluntly.

Silya squelched into the elevator and gave a wistful sigh as it began its descent. She lost herself in thought for a minute and soon saw the doors opening.

"Caught without an umbrella?"

She jumped at the sudden invasion of that perfectly musical voice, so soft and yet with the ability to sharpen in an instant. Alyane's voice. Alyane's form. She was standing in the doorway of the elevator as if she graced the sitting room of a king, emerald-glistening eyes observing her charge with utmost care, flawless skin fairly glowing in the musty air of Undercity.

And then it hit Silya, the quip typical of Alyane's subtle teasing, and she nodded hastily but was unable to form any words. She saw her teacher's expression change to something unreadable, and was frightened enough to curtsy jerkily and brush past her with a muttered apology barely audible even to elven ears.

"Silya," Alyane's perfect voice caught her off guard, so rarely did it form her name.

She turned around soggily and brushed the dripping bangs further to the side of her face, addressing the cobblestones. "Yes?"

"Should you ever need protection from the elements, shielding yourself with mana is often a useful trick." And Alyane's eyes narrowed slightly and combined with her mysterious smile for a picture of haunting beauty and ever-so-subtle mockery. "You are a mage, are you not?"

"Y-yes," Silya managed, though she felt her face growing warm with her naivety exposed. She felt like Alyane's eyes were boring holes through hers as they stood there, and she curtsied nervously once more and left.

Alyane, unseen, let her careful expression falter in the elevator. A smile graced her lips, and a mortal sigh that was never to be heard.

* * *

"I just don't know if I have what it takes," Felfe said mournfully, and he took a sip of the moonberry juice with eyes closed to hide their emotion.

Guanji shook his head, broad smile spreading across his handsome - for a troll - face. "Joo be jus' fine! Joo an' Kain be trainin' all da time, ja?"

Felfe tried to smile, but he had to stifle the incoming sigh. The two sat quietly at the table for the next few moments, neither able to appreciate, sadly, the beauty of the architecture normally impressing guests of Kain's mansion... should they lose their way and find themselves in the kitchen. No, Felfe's troubles made even the golden embellishments and the white columns and ruby-red accents seem tawdry and garish to indisposed eyes.

Guanji broke the silence shyly with, "Joo prolly be stronger n' everybody in da end, I tink." And he finished his moonberry juice and rose to set his glass in the sink, red mohawk bobbing characteristically. "Don't joo worry 'bout it!"

"Thanks, Guanji." Felfe sank into his moonberry juice, but he really did feel a little better with all the troll's encouragement. "You don't have to stay here and keep me company, you know. You ought to get out to the dungeons..."

"Ja, I be headin' out - " Guanji's voice trailed off into the distance as he turned towards the doorway.

"What's..." Felfe began, and then he saw.

Lance was standing in the doorway, appearing surprised that there were others already in the kitchen. But the reason they were stunned at his presence was the jug of bourbon in his hand. And there was some book resting in his other hand. Add to that his mussed hair, normally gleaming and mess-free, and his stained tabard, which he had evidently spilled alcohol on... Lance was looking rough. And they knew it.

"Lance? Are you..." Felfe trailed off as the paladin quietly set down the bourbon on the counter and made to leave the room.

As it happened, Guanji took it upon himself to prevent the exit of said paladin. The large troll stood in front of the doorway, arms folded, red mohawk looming intimidatingly over Lance's head. His eyes said that, although he appreciated his friend, he would appreciate him much more if he stopped sulking and explained himself. Particularly if doing the explaining would return him to his regular, cheerful self.

"Joo gotta tell us, mon," Guanji said firmly.

Lance, drunk as he was, seemed to sober up just by hearing the seriousness in his friend's voice, and hesitated. "It's..."

"It's fine, Lance." Felfe empathized with him at this moment, recalling a time long ago that Guanji had insisted that he explain why they couldn't just walk into Southshore while Kain was there, and he patted the chair beside his. "We're your friends."

"And then he just... left. I don't... hic!... know why." Lance had taken to the bourbon again halfway through his story, and neither Felfe nor Guanji had the heart to take that, too, from him.

"Oh, Lance..." Felfe commiserated with him, patting him on the shoulder in that gentle and almost not awkward way of his. "I'm sure Yuren was just upset. He probably just didn't know what to do."

"Ja, mon!" Guanji exclaimed, and pounded his hand into his palm as if newly enthused. "It be like what Sil - er, da young elf girls - be doin'. When dey hafta explain demselves an' dey dunno how, dey run. I be seein' it all over da place!" No one asked how Guanji knew about it - hell, how did any of them know about it? Strictly speaking, only Alyane, Silya, Kain, and Temarr witnessed 'it' in the first place...

"So... you're saying... Yuren's like..." Lance slurred his words, his mind working slowly under the influence of the strong alcohol. Clearly he was a model paladin.

"Ja. Yuren be like a blood-elf girl," Guanji finished proudly, grinning far too widely to be appropriate for the statement. "Dat be jus' what I be sayin'."

Felfe attempted a smile but was trying with no success to picture Yuren acting like any blood-elf he had ever seen. "Um... yes. Of course."

"What should I, uh, do?" Lance asked, oddly calm. Although he did run his hand through his increasingly messy hair for good measure.

"Maybe you should just give him some time to explain," Felfe suggested, having gone through his fair share of relationship miscommunications with Kain. "Just be like you always are and see if he comes back to talk about it."

Lance seemed to be giving this a good deal of thought as he had a stare-down with his jug of bourbon. "I suppose that's... the only thing I can do." He gave a shaky laugh.

"Joo be okay, mon?" Guanji said cautiously, wondering at the oddly-placed bit of humor.

"Yes, I'm... haha... fine." And Lance proceeded to gesture drunkenly with the book in his non-alcohol-occupied hand. "I just realized... I, uh, quoted this. Just now."

"What be dat?" Guanji tried to read the title but couldn't due to Lance waving the book around spastically. "Ah...?"

Felfe carefully took the novel from Lance, who appeared to not even notice its absence as he took another long chug of bourbon with some semblance of his old cheer, if bourbon-induced. And then Felfe's eyes went wide, and he blushed to the roots of his silvery night-elf hair. Muttering to himself in a scandalized tone, he set down the book on the table and pretended he hadn't ever been interested in its contents.

This reaction, predictably, only made Guanji more curious, and he seized the book before Lance could take it back. "Dis be... _A Steamy Romance Novel: Uncharted Territory_? Lance, joo be stealin' dis from Silya!"

Felfe let out a mixture of a choke and a cough before spluttering, "S-S-Silya reads these!" He looked down at the table and murmured, "And that one's one of the worst..."

Guanji heard and blinked, which is to say that he had a blank expression on his face, not that he used his mage skill and transported himself a few yards into the other room. "Felfe, joo... joo read dis stuff, too?"

"What! N-no, of course not!" Felfe countered immediately, turning fel orc red for the second time in as many minutes. "Um, my, um, friend... does."

"Right," Lance said, unconvinced even in his drunken state. "'Course not." And the paladin had the decency to keep his amusement to a hoarse cough that sounded like it contained a laugh.

"Ja, what be dis one 'bout?" Guanji asked, curiosity sated enough that he wasn't about to read it and find out... but not enough that he couldn't ask questions."

Felfe, without thinking, rattled off a brief synopsis, stunning Lance and Guanji for approximately five seconds each. "Well, Marcus the paladin once again seduces a beautiful woman, but the catch is that... well, let me read this one page, it's right... here!" He had grabbed the book from Guanji and found the page within seconds.

_"Marcus stepped into the earthen hut cautiously, and he was immediately on guard as he spotted the figure of an orc, back turned to him. 'Who are you, traveler?' she asked him, voice softly musical. When she turned, he tried hard not to gape at her luscious curves and her entrancing eyes, enthralled by the savage beauty of an orc woman. 'I am afraid I do not know this area very well," he said smoothly, drawing closer to her with no lack of interest. 'I can remedy that,' she said in sultry tones, and he gulped as she loomed over him slightly. Fear awakened his passion further, and he said hoarsely, 'I'd give all my mana to lay my hands on you.'"_

The only sound came from Guanji giving a slight cough. No one particularly wanted to speak up, as Felfe realized how much he had embarrassed himself, Guanji being polite enough not to say anything more, and Lance being too drunk to care much at all one way or the other.

It was at this awkward moment that Silya strode into the room, an expression of surprise alighting on her face similar to Lance's when he had been discovered. She fumbled with her words as she hastily disposed of an empty box of chocolates, and she seemed to be hiding something behind her back with her other hand, making it appear as if she was only casually resting her hand on her back. Trained eyes saw through it.

"Silya, joo be hidin' someting?" Guanji asked with a grin, failing to notice the blood-elf's rising distress as he rose from the table and headed over to her.

"Ah, no! No, this is... is nothing." She flushed and her eyes went wider with panic as Guanji mercilessly swiped the item she had been protecting.

And then Guanji let out a guffaw of such magnitude that only trolls were able to access. "Ja, dis be... hahaha... dis be... da next one?"

"What are you..." Silya began, confused, and then her gaze was drawn to the romance novel on the table. Felfe pretended to examine the ceiling with utmost interest, cheeks still pink.

"Dis one... _A Steamy Romance Novel: The Best of Intentions_." Guanji began flipping through it, but Felfe and Silya simultaneously lunged at him - no small feat for Felfe, as he had previously been seated at the table - and wrested the book from his grasp. Silya, that is.

"D-don't! You really shouldn't... um, um..." She struggled for an appropriate explanation and her fearful eyes turned to Felfe, who picked up on her dilemma.

"That's right! That one is about the..." And then it was Felfe who broke off, officially having condemned himself to be known as a romance novel junkie. "That is... oh, muffins."

Lance chose this time to keel over in an alcohol-induced black-out, halting any further conversation on the topic of steamy romance novels. There was a rush of all three to stop him from hitting the ground, and Guanji barely managed to rescue the paladin from a splitting headache. That is, besides the hangover he was already going to get if he didn't remember to cure it.

"What's wrong with him?" Silya asked them, perplexed at the sudden change in the paladin's usually upbeat self. "Did something happen?"

"He be in love wit Yuren, mon." Guanji said this as if they had heard it directly from the unconscious man, though it was pure observation on his part. "An' Yuren be shy 'bout it."

For reasons neither Guanji nor Felfe could fathom, Silya blushed and stared at the ground upon hearing this. "Oh... I see. That is unfortunate."

"Joo be soundin' like dat Alyane," Guanji joked, teasing her about her lack of words and her odd phrasing. He shook his head and his mohawk waggled tauntingly.

Silya froze at the name of her mentor, and then upon recovery began to look through the cupboards, presumably for another box of chocolates. Her frantic attempts to not engage in further conversation did not go unnoticed, however, as the other two were exchanging whispers behind her back that she was not privy to.

"Joo tink she be havin' her own problems, mon?" Guanji asked in a low tone. "She be lookin' like Lance, joo know...?"

"You're right... I wonder if we should ask," Felfe said, concerned. Whatever was bothering Silya was surely not anything similar to Lance's current situation, as Silya didn't seem to even associate with anyone romantically at the moment. Although Felfe did wonder if that fact had something to do with whatever the problem was.

* * *

**Review Question:** Which character/pairing do you guys wanna see more of in the next chapter(s)? Anything reasonable. Hell, I'll even give a section to the messenger guy if he gets enough votes (oh, what have I unleashed...)!


	3. Chapter 3

Yes, another chapter! I'm rather unoccupied lately... thanks for all your comments! I really appreciate them. Shinku's "Windows 7" reference made me lol... oh, boy.

Yuren and Lance got a couple of votes, so I'll have to do something with them (as if I could resist anyway)! However, Liam and Nahir shall also get some development this chapter... and possibly Alyane and Silya, as well.

... Poor messenger guy gets no love. Heh heh.

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**Chapter Three**

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"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," Kain said, though he understood quite well what Yuren's problems were. "Explain again, and this time be sure to include all the essential details." Hidden smirk aside, Kain was really only delaying while he thought of how to phrase his diagnosis of the undead's situation.

Yuren scowled, sitting restlessly on the bench under the main bridge into Silvermoon, where few ever cared to pass by and savor the garden area. "All right, fine."

Once again, the warrior's lack of expected sarcasm was distressing, and Kain was distracted from formulating his response as he noted just how quieter the man had become in the space of a day. A gardener was pacing the other end of the garden, but he seemed unaware of anything happening around him, assuring them of their privacy. That is, if he was even an elf at all, and not a robotic being as suggested by Felfe upon his second or third visit to Silvermoon. Kain had to admit that the night-elf had a point...

"... And then, like I said before, he kept saying it, and I just... I, ah, that is..."

Kain sighed and cut in, "You're not making much sense."

"I'm doing the best I can!" Yuren exclaimed irritably, coming close to regaining his former acidity due to frustration. "I mean, I just turned around and left! Can I make it any more clear than that?"

"So what you're saying is," Kain recapped the story, more to get his friend to put more thought into what had happened than anything, "Lance was indulging in his own brand of flirtation, and you were uncomfortable and left." Humans, after all, rarely developed the talent for seduction innate in blood-elves, and Lance was unusually inept at it, if Kain had any say in the matter.

Yuren froze up, undead eyes - or whatever they should be called, spheres of sickly light - locating the robot-gardener-elf while not really seeing him at all. "I... I suppose... you could say that."

Kain seized on that hesitation and verbally pounced while Yuren's caustic attitude was on cooldown. "Just why were you uncomfortable, might I ask?"

The undead seemed perplexed at how to respond to this simple question, half of him wanting to counter with an icy glare and the other half melting away in sheer shame. "Why was I...? Well, because... ah..."

"Didn't put much thought into that part, did you?" Kain muttered, knowing Yuren couldn't hear him nearly as well as another elf could, and would therefore be none the wiser to his risky remark.

In fact, his friend was having enough trouble merely tackling the million-gold question at hand. His head in his hands - thankfully not literally - and his eyes distant, Yuren thought. And he thought some more. And when that failed, he calmly asked Kain for Blessing of Wisdom, and then he thought once again. That was when he realized. And at the moment he understood, he knew he could not reveal it to Kain and risk his pride and general masculinity.

"Well?" Kain nudged subtly, one word containing enough smooth encouragement to convince several ogres to cliff-jump. Not that such a thing required much effort.

Yuren hesitated, mind scrambling for a logical but false reasoning behind his discomfort. "I... believe he feels a different way about me... than I... him... yes." And he gave himself a mental pat on the back for his vague but wonderfully off-target admission that he was somehow smothered by Lance's affection for him, uncomfortable with the paladin's level of attachment.

"Ah... I had thought so." Kain said smugly, and his high-level smirk revealed itself, though ineffective at present. "Warriors, I'm afraid, have a difficult time comprehending some things... it is inherent in their lack of intellect."

Yuren's eyes narrowed, but he was more confused than anything, which, annoyingly enough, only confirmed Kain's theory. "What do you mean?" And he winced at the irony.

"By now, those of higher intellect would have noticed how much Lance cares for you," Kain said calmly, having known for a very long time that non-intellect-wielding classes, such as warriors and rogues - Felfe came to mind - were often a little more dense in certain areas. "However, you have no cause to worry; as far as I have seen, you two balance each other nicely, and I can assure you that he feels the same way you do."

This left Yuren to gape like a firefin snapper as he realized that, rather than following the vague implication he had made, Kain had used its ambiguity for the opposite conclusion, and had in doing so assumed the very admission that Yuren had been loathe to make. Kain watched his friend flounder, clearly lost for options, and kept smirking.

One should never attempt to outwit a blood-elf when concealing matters of interest, particularly on the topic of relationships.

* * *

Guanji and Felfe had decided that, despite the troubled demeanor Silya displayed, their first priority was getting Lance to a bed. With a barely-stifled sigh, Felfe helped his friend lift the paladin - an easier feat due to his lack of armor today - and hoist him up with the intention of taking him to a guest room. Both couldn't help but look back at Silya as they made to leave, seeing as the blood-elf was still searching for another box of chocolates as if her arena rating depended upon it.

"Silya?" Felfe asked carefully, a little out of breath because he was holding up half of Lance's weight. "Are you... all right?"

Silya paused in her search, and the next moment she had turned around and was flashing them a sparkling smile. "Of course! Oh, sorry, would you like me to help you carry him? I can conjure some water when we get there, that might help, and -" She seemed to belatedly realize that she was overdoing her cheerful facade, and awkwardly stopped there.

Guanji, seizing on the offer as a way to keep Silya near them a bit longer, nodded. "Ja, dat be nice of you, Silya."

After the troll's enthusiasm, she couldn't really back down with any semblance of dignity. She made the most of it with a faltering smile, and mournfully closed the cupboards without her intended prize. She came to help Felfe's side with the weight of Lance, and the sight of a beautiful elven woman doing such an inelegant, menial task would have looked comical to some. Felfe was preoccupied, however, wondering if Silya had automatically come to his side because she saw him as physically weaker than Guanji, and this distressed him despite the fact that the troll was several times his size.

"Well, let's go!" Silya prompted, and they all began to shuffle, paladin in tow, out of the kitchen doorway.

* * *

Liam awoke once again to the vast, blinding whiteness of his room in the Silvermoon Institute. For a moment he frantically scanned the room for something, anything to take away the pain of the utter blankness, and there it was - the emerald green pillow. The vibrant color and the gold accents were a relief to his tired eyes, and he played with the tassels absently for a few minutes as he began to fully wake.

And then he recalled exactly where he was, and growled like his feral cat after two days without food. Fortunately, this distracted him from his current situation by the acknowledgment that he was, in fact, hungry. So hungry, he could have eaten a zhevra. And those things didn't taste all that great, really. Not that he would know...

He was drawn out of his delightful memories by a firm but reasonably quiet knock on the door. He panicked, threw the pillow off the bed when he remembered who had given it to him, and then seized it off the floor in another fluid motion at a second set of knocks. He realized he was clutching it to him out of nervousness, and he once again chucked it at the wall just as the door opened.

A not at all awkward silence took hold as Nahir pretended he hadn't just seen one of his prized Lunar Festival silk pillows whizzing past the doorway and hitting the wall, and Liam likewise pretended that he wasn't checking Nahir out, which of course he was. His 'mentor' - friggin' pretentious label - was once again wearing immaculate white robes, the only standout color his blonde hair, which flowed over his shoulders like rivers of gold. Gold like rivers of butter... drenching fluffy white... toast? Popcorn. Yeah.

Liam's stomach growled, effectively breaking the silence while also making things even more embarrassing for the inmate. That was what he was, after all, Nahir be damned. But damning Nahir could wait until after breakfast.

He jumped upon hearing Nahir's unaffected, professional voice saying, "Breakfast is being served in the meeting room."

Liam jumped up from the bed immediately, noticed he was only wearing the loose pants he had been wearing when he arrived, and just as soon didn't care. Although it irked him that Nahir didn't seem at all startled at either his patient's sudden movement or half-nakedness.

Nahir, in fact, decided to go on as if nothing could keep him from his duties. "But first -"

"Whoa, whoa, can't I have breakfast before we get to all that wacky stuff?" Liam countered, a tinge of panic reaching his voice, and his stomach, with the idea that he'd have to wait even longer for food.

A hint of a frown descended upon Nahir's angelic visage. "Calm yourself. There is merely -"

"Oh, c'mon! I need food, I haven't eaten since, like... I dunno, a while! And before that, I was in the Barrens. Guess what I got to eat in the Barrens! Zhevra? No. _Roots and tubers_. 'Cause my stupid cat had to devour the whole damn thing after I killed with my bare hands, and -"

This time it was Nahir interrupting, and his eyes seemed to harden somehow as he cut in dispassionately, "Liam, listen to me!"

The shock of the other elf actually raising his voice was enough for Liam to stop talking, although his mouth might have kept moving soundlessly beyond his control. He watched, stunlocked, as Nahir's eyebrow twitched once, his lips struggled to maintain their neutral line, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Now, if you would let me finish..." And Nahir paused, daring him to interrupt just one more time and see what would happen to him. "... The meeting room, where you will usually take your meals, is a shared room. This means that there will be others there who are attending this facility."

Liam groaned, but he didn't want to risk setting off Nahir again if he voiced his thoughts about eating with a bunch of insane psychopathic weirdos. Although, come to think of it... he wasn't too far from that, himself. He stifled the second groan.

Nahir watched his reaction carefully, and added, "You are to behave yourself, and I expect you to be a good example to the others. After all, I seem to remember you claiming yesterday that you had no such 'problems'."

At the prick of a reminder, Liam couldn't hold back his snide, "Is that another 'bad word'?"

His mentor's gaze, if possible, got even colder, and he merely gestured to the door and said, "Let us depart." And Liam passed him with a feigned confidence that he didn't half possess because he'd rather be found out for faking his casual demeanor than have Nahir discover just how scared he was of him.

Just to try the patience of the other elf one last time before they proceeded to breakfast, Liam aimed a cocky smirk at him with all the ease of his autoshot and said patronizingly, "Are you sure you don't wanna hold my hand? I might get lost in this creepy place."

All the way to the meeting room, Liam did his best to hide his defeat as he walked, hand-in-hand, with Nahir. The bastard knew how to play it.

* * *

Silya left as soon as they managed to get Lance to the nearest guest-room bed, leaving Guanji and Felfe to fend for themselves. Unfortunately, this meant that, after a few minutes' verbal equivalent of a double healadin duel, Guanji ended up emptying an entire conjured water skin onto the hapless Lancelot.

Strangely, this seemed to have no effect on the unconscious paladin.

Even more strange was the door banging open to admit Kain, who immediately brightened upon locating Felfe, as per usual. This evoked the natural pattern of greeting that involved Felfe smiling and blushing slightly under the pressure of Kain's incidental blood-elven smirk, and Kain realizing what he was doing and sheepishly averting his gaze, before the pattern more-or-less repeated itself. Someone, however, had had quite enough of sappiness for the time being.

"It's nice to see that you people have _finally_ gotten over yourselves," Yuren lashed out with the appropriate amount of sarcasm, being that he really didn't mind at all and only needed something to complain about.

"Ja, but joo can't be jealous after all da work we put into dem." Guanji grinned trollishly, and gave Yuren a hasty and not at all inconspicuous thumbs-up.

"We? What did _you _ever do to -" And Yuren cut himself off, just like the time with his finger bleeding everywhere in the kitchen, except not nearly as badly. "The_ rage potion_."

At Kain's sharpened gaze, Guanji hastily backpedaled. "No, mon, I be just messin' wit ya, joo guys had da rage potion idea, wit da... da moonberry an' all dat."

"The _other_ rage potion," Yuren pointed out, oddly gleeful at the discovery and the fact that Kain looked about ready to demote the poor troll, or worse. "You slipped it into the wine, didn't you?"

Guanji, now having aggroed all three of the room's other occupants, gulped and confessed, "Ja, but dat wasn't what it be meant for! It be in Alyane's wine, but den she dun want it, so Felfe drank it and all dat."

"Why did you put it in Alyane's wine?" Felfe asked curiously, by now not that angry about the whole 'rage potion' incident as he had been at the time. Although, at the time, he hadn't been angry at all, so much as... distracted.

Guanji looked around, eyes panicked, before telling them quickly, "Silya told me ta do it."

A resounding chorus of astonishment filled the room, with each person responding similarly in his own fashion, such that Guanji had to tell them all the quiet down in case the female in question were to come back to check on Lance for any reason.

"I dunno, mon, dat be just it," He told them with genuine confusion. "But she be furious it didn't work, joo know."

Felfe and Kain exchanged glances, prompting Guanji and Yuren to follow suit despite not being on the same page of things, as the so-called lovebirds were.

* * *

As it happened, the Silya in question was once again brooding by a large body of water, in that style characteristic of the melodramatic blood-elves. She had doubled back to the kitchen after helping them carry Lance, evidenced by the box of chocolates she was currently engaging. And, like the mage she was, she was making quick work of the multiple chocolates with a hasty sampling that looked like a sloppy AoE.

Her haste was really an excuse not to think, and it worked for a while as she decimated the chocolates. But the resulting sickly feeling, when she finished, made things much, much worse as she lay on the dismal grass at the shores of Lordamere Lake outside Undercity. And she couldn't really move, so she was forced to surrender to the stampede of unwanted thoughts that awaited her.

It must have been an hour later when Alyane approached. If it had been earlier, Silya wouldn't have been able to jump up and brush off her robes that quickly, owing to all the... consumables... she had consumed. But she did, and afterwards she fixed her mentor with some semblance of a level look, which must not have worked that well since she was far lower-levelled than the mistress herself.

Alyane paid the look no heed and actually came to her side calmly, directing her gaze to the Lordamere Lake's reflective surface rather than risk their eyes meeting. Silya supposed she did this because when anyone met Alyane's gaze they tended to feel faint from the sheer seductive power in those bright green eyes.

"Silya, you have not been yourself as of late."

The blonde's mouth twisted, and for a moment she felt like saying something Yuren-like in return. What was the succubus thinking! After being worked to the bone, also much like Yuren - har har, undead joke - and then having recurring nightmares and losing out on several days of sleep, and then to top it off, watching her mentor die in a metal tunnel filled with flames and smoke... who wouldn't be acting like this? And that was even without the shock of Alyane's return, and the odd... attachment... it had encouraged.

But as it was, Silya restrained herself and only said, "I have my reasons." Mocking Alyane with her own brand of apathy seemed fitting enough.

After a few moments of silence in which both looked out onto the lake, Alyane said suddenly, still smooth-faced, "I had no time to tell you of the soulstone. For that, I feel deeply ashamed."

Caught off guard, Silya's eyes sought her mentor's for confirmation of what had just been spoken. "Ashamed? You?"

Alyane had the nerve to smile at her, and a hint of fondness slipped into her cold voice when she replied, "That is more like the Silya I know." And before Silya could protest, she went on with, "And I am sorry. I should have apologized earlier, but I was not certain of how you would react."

"That's a stupid excuse..." Silya muttered to herself, knowing the other would hear it but strangely not caring all that much.

Alyane drew closer, a move that could only intimidate as she said softly, "It was not my intention to give you any false impressions."

Silya snapped.

"You," she fumed, "have given me 'false impressions' ever since I met you!"

And as Alyane stood there woodenly, as startled as Silya had ever seen her, she seized her mentor by the high collar of her robes. Blind fury took over as she dragged her towards the lake's edge, and despite Alyane's awkward struggling - had she ever had a need to do so before? - she knew what had to be done.

As they more-or-less stood at the lake's edge, Silya with a firm grasp on Alyane's collar that was half choking her, pronounced her final judgment.

"You led me on, making me think I could be your student when you knew all along I'd never make it! And then you let me think we were - we were friends, and then you didn't even bother to tell me you had a soulstone and made me think you _died _in there - !"

Silya felt tears stinging at the edges of her eyes, but she held them back and turned her elegant nose up in a prideful gesture not nearly as bad as the one she was about to carry out.

"If you can't figure out whether you, you... want me around or not, then that's just fine by me!"

And with that said, she used all of her burning determination to shove Alyane straight into Lordamere Lake. The warlock slammed into the water's surface with a great splash, and then she floundered in a satisfying way no one else would ever witness. Still speechless, eyes widened in pure shock, she didn't seem to be processing what had just happened.

Silya just stood there for a moment, drinking in the sight and feeling her bad mood drifting away, before she turned to leave, yelling back over her shoulder:

"I was gonna sheep you, but you look stupid enough already!"

* * *

**If you go to Sekanakatayama on youtube, you can see me and a friend persuading ogres to cliff-jump in Zangarmarsh. Well, okay, so it was his idea... but still!**


	4. Chapter 4

And now, in a very special chapter of _Friends Will Be Friends_...

"He doesn't have much time, Yuren."

"Silya... there is something I have been meaning to tell you for a very long time."

"Felfe, a letter came in. It says it's from... your mother?"

"But dis be crazy, mon!"

"Nahir, what the hell are you do - mmphrrmphrrrlggl!"

Stay tuned to see if any of this actually occurs this chapter, or if it's all just a shameless ploy to generate excitement in the fan(s).

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Silya sat in her manaforged armchair, eyes glued to the events taking place on the MORMRIS (Magical Optical Reticulating Mentally Revealing Image System). Guilt soaked through her like the pangs of rez sickness, though for once she was completely dry. It had been only an hour since she had pulled the stunt with the lake, but the thrill of vengeance had worn off, leaving her vulnerable to such things as bad blood-elven soap operas.

The brunette blood-elven male on the screen was, at the moment, highly engaged in the act of winning back his beautiful fiery-haired woman. She didn't seem pleased with him, for reasons that were to become clear very soon.

"Tae'ren..." She began, heart-brokenly turning from him as her voice became more and more fragile. "How could you? Those other girls, what did they have that I don't?"

"Fyra - " He reached out a hand and placed it comfortingly on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and suddenly burst into violent tears.

"I was not prepared!" she sobbed, and then began to stalk towards offstage right, face practically dripping.

"No, you have me all wrong!" Tae'ren said desperately, and he seized her wrist and turned her towards him in one fluid motion, drawing her up against him like the cover of A Steamy Romance Novel. "Those girls - Rinna, Doriel, Shindari - they were merely setbacks! Did you honestly believe I would trust the future to some girl I don't even know?"

Fyra hesitated, caught in his arms, and 'protested', "But Tae'ren..."

"Oh no, no, no, they were merely instruments, stepping stones to a much larger plan!" He claimed, voice becoming strained with emotion as he held her there, eyes locked with hers. "It has all led to this... and this time, no one will interfere!"

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and they proceeded to kiss passionately for a good five minutes. Silya sighed and consumed the last of the tasty cupcakes as she tried to ignore what was now becoming slightly pornographic on the screen. She didn't understand; she had finally taken her revenge, so why was she still so... so... helpless?

Meanwhile, the red-haired blood-elf woman on the MORMRIS had apparently experienced a hasty change of heart, and was now tearing herself away from her lover with much melodrama. He went to speak, hand extended as a peace offering, but she shook her head and backed away, eyes wild.

"You know nothing of love!" she accused, and tears abruptly sprang from her no-doubt sore eyes. "Such arrogance!"

Silya rolled her eyes and switched off the MORMRIS. She sat there, in the dimness caused by the curtains obscuring the artificial light. A few minutes rolled by, like a queue for a random heroic, and she decided, much like most adventurers, that something had to be done. Something had to happen.

She switched the MORMRIS back on.

* * *

Breakfast, Liam decided, had actually been one of the highlights of his stay at the institution. When they had entered the large, open room, he had looked over all the wan, unhappy faces and grimaced. But then he had spotted a familiar one, and though he wasn't incredibly familiar with the person at hand, it was his first day in the dining hall and he certainly wasn't going to brave it alone. He mustered his courage and manliness and suddenly realized that something was preventing him from making his macho entrance.

He looked down with a sharp mind blast of dread and saw that Nahir was still holding his hand.

"Uh, hey... could you...?" He began nervously, suddenly caught off-guard as he owned up, mentally, to just how stupid he probably looked to the rest of the dining inmates.

"If you are sufficiently sure of your surroundings," Nahir said coolly, eyes like sharpened throwing daggers, before adding the cautionary, "And do remember to behave yourself, Liam."

"Right," Liam mumbled, and flushed despite himself. It was like he was a kid all over again, the way this guy treated him. So pathetic. It grated on him, and yet... it wasn't like he would protest. Weird.

He walked over to an empty spot beside an undead warlock and across from a blood-elf paladin, both of whom brightened slightly as he sat down and gave a casual, "Hey, guys."

"Liam," said the warlock in surprise, though his voice sounded far-away, so he really wasn't convincingly surprised. "I thought you might be here."

"Well, uh, yeah..." Liam suddenly felt sheepish and tried to forget the stunt he had pulled to end up in this place. "So, Temarr, what have you been up to? Since the party and all."

"Ah, yes. That was a momentous occasion for us both," Temarr said in monotone, and he directed his gaze at the far war, as if he alone participated in the flashback that followed.

Liam waited, but he was not privy to said flashback, and would have to manually go back and recall exactly what had happened that day at a later time. Sensing he would not get much information out of the warlock, he glanced over at the male blood-elf sitting across from them. His hair was spiky and dark blue, and his pale skin made him seem like a mage if it wasn't for the fact that he happened to be a paladin. Liam wasn't sure how he knew that, but he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that everyone else here had a shirt. He must have missed that memo.

"Hey, I'm Liam." He offered a hand across the table to the paladin, who shook it amiably and smiled. Liam was oddly relieved, having found someone who seemed stable in this place, though that was ironic in itself.

"I'm Wrenn," said the other elf, and then took a bite of his toast, swallowed hastily, and added, "Temarr here told me about you. No need to explain." And then the strange fellow smiled again, a discordant accompaniment to his acknowledgment of Liam's crimes against the Guild.

Wrenn's freshly-toasted bread made him realize that he hadn't bothered to get any food, and he had half-risen to locate said food when he felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him back down.

"H-hey - oh."

Nahir was standing at his side, holding a plate of breakfast. "For being so enthused at the thought of food, you certainly forgot quickly enough." And the priest had the gall to set the plate down in front of him, like his blasted mother.

"I see you're not eating anything, o' caring mentor?" Liam inquired, in his sweetest voice, before answering himself with the much sharper, "I suppose you snack on my nightmares, is that it?"

Nahir regarded him with a level look for a moment before saying, very quietly, "I will be standing over there with the other mentors. When you have finished your breakfast, _little one_, you will return to me." And he turned and walked away with a swishing of pure white robes.

Wrenn broke the resulting silence with an awed, "Whoa."

"I know, I know," Liam groaned, but inwardly he was seething with fury. "He's like that."

"One would think," Temarr began absently, tapping his cheek with an undead finger, "that he cares very much for you."

"Where did you see that?" the hunter countered, digging into his toast and raptor omelet simultaneously. "Wash i' in da way he gof me food or da way he inshul' me?"

"Both," Temarr answered hastily, for once oddly engaged in the situation, before he once again floated off dreamily. "Definitely... both."

"Damn!" Wrenn swore, and Liam just then noticed that the paladin was writing on some sort of scroll. "I have no idea what the answer to this one is!"

"What's that?" Liam let his curiosity take over and he leaned over the table awkwardly as Wrenn sighed and swiveled the scroll towards his new friend.

It was a quiz. The last question hadn't yet been answered, and Liam could see why...

* * *

15) What are the reagents for 'Enchant Weapon: Mongoose'?

a) 5 Void Crystals, 12 Large Prismatic Shards, 8 Lesser Planar Essences, 40 Arcane Dust

b) 6 Void Crystals, 10 Large Prismatic Shards, 8 Greater Planar Essences, 40 Arcane Dust

c) 5 Void Crystals, 10 Large Prismatic Shards, 8 Greater Planar Essences, 40 Arcane Dust

d) 6 Void Crystals, 12 Large Prismatic Shards, 8 Greater Planar Essences, 40 Arcane Dust

e) None of the above

* * *

"What are you doing somethin' like that for?" Liam hazarded, sitting back and digging into his food once more. "Ish not like you goin' anywhere."

Wrenn sighed, and then he dropped his quill and began his explanation. "I've been wrongly assigned here. I'm not... well, I shouldn't say this, but... I'm not like the rest of these people. I don't have, erm, you know..."

"So you're here by mistake?" Liam's hope rose, even though he knew that he, himself, had a very good reason to be here. But just the same... "How?"

"They think I'm hallucinating," Wrenn said mournfully. "It all started a while back... I'm a paladin, of course, so, as you know, we walk in the Light."

"Yeah...?" Liam was abruptly uninterested as he diverted his attention to tanking the piece of toast and the bits of omelet that he pretended had spawned somehow around it.

"A paladin's job is to support the citizens, to serve justice, and to protect peace in the world."

"You don't say?" Liam said after swallowing a mouthful of omelet that had a very raptor-ish aftertaste.

"Ah, right, I got distracted." Wrenn looked sheepish at his mistake, which made Liam a tiny bit less bored at the conversation. "Anyway, I was at Blood Knight Training when I had a sparring match with my partner. She was... really sweet... and it was great because she understood that I actually take the chastity pledge seriously. She wasn't like the other girls..."

"You're rambling again," Liam reminded him, and then stuffed his face with the last mouthful of food on his plate, thus ending the encounter and rewarding him with a full stomach and a sense of pride.

"Right, right. So I was sparring with her, and she suddenly... changed." Wrenn frowned.

"... into something sexier?" Liam prodded, a little confused at where this was going.

"No, of course not!" The paladin seemed horrified that Liam could have such a thought. "She became... almost like a different person. She was merciless, cold, and she suddenly fought like I'd never seen anyone fight before. She cut me up pretty bad, and when the commander saw it he thought I'd done it myself. Though how he thinks I could have managed it..."

"Wrenn."

"Right! Anyway, I tried to explain what happened, but that just made it worse. Bachi - er, Commander Bachi - isn't the most patient person, and he already thinks I'm... um... a pansy. So he thought I was hallucinating the sparring match, because as soon as it ended, she turned back into herself and couldn't remember what she had done to me. She got pretty worried, and she -"

"_Wrenn._"

"Yeah, so now they think I'm hallucinating, cutting myself up, and they also have this weird idea that I have some weird sexual adversity - uh, aversion - disorder or something. Because I actually follow the vow of chastity. But I don't! I just think paladins should be more... you know, in the Light!"

Liam himself wasn't altogether convinced that this poor guy didn't have something wrong with him, if only due to the chastity thing, but he only nodded and said, "That's harsh, man. Maybe you'll just have to do the best you can until they let you out." He might have added, 'like me', but thought better of it, as their situations were vastly different.

"Thanks," Wrenn smiled for yet another time. "You're a pal, Liam."

The hunter felt an odd warmth at having someone considering him to be... a good person. Especially in this place, where it meant all the more.

* * *

"Quick, barricade the door!" Kain commanded, holding all his weight against the shaking door as Felfe and Guanji scrambled to gather various chairs before at last settling on pushing a bookcase from the hall up again the door.

Kain slipped out of the way so they could move the bookshelf against the door, and the three panted, in disbelief that their hasty plan had worked, as they rested against the wall. The pounding on the door stopped. All was silent.

Guanji ruined the theatrical moment by shaking his head, and his bright-red mohawk, and saying, "I hope dis be it. I not gonna be mastermindin' anymore o' dese romance things joo all concerned wit."

"You seemed happy enough to slip that potion to Felfe," Kain pointed out, with a tinge of danger in his smooth voice.

"Alyane," Guanji reminded him hastily, and added, "But joo guys, it be workin' out in da end! Now joo all happy an' havin' nice times. Right, mon?"

Kain caught the hint and froze, inwardly chanting 'don't ask, don't ask, don't ask, don't ask...' as he then turned to Felfe and formed the best smile he could under the circumstances, though his chant went on. "Indeed we are."

Felfe smiled back, and sidled closer to him so that Kain could wrap an arm around him lovingly. They were saved, saved by Felfe's obliviousness to what Guanji _really_ meant. And if Guanji asked anything more clearly than that, they would be in serious trouble.

Kain was the Guildmaster. And, as far as most people knew, he was the main tank and thus the most impressive person on the whole of the Horde side. His skills were legendary, and those included the skills inherently present in all blood-elves. Blood-elves, as he had mentioned before, were made for seduction. And if anyone found out that, after all that had happened, he had not yet... deflowered... Felfe...

He would be ashamed to show his face. His pride as a blood-elf - nay, as a man! - would be crushed. As he cuddled with Felfe, mentally begging Guanji not to say anything more, he decided that something had to be done.

He had to do something, and soon.

* * *

"Oh, for all that is Holy!" Yuren swore, which was ironic since the paladin in question was Holy. "This is... this is..." He then sighed, and his shoulders sagged due to his exhalation and his humongous pauldrons.

He turned around and let himself fall back against the door, which now wasn't even budging. They must have shoved something against it. He didn't deserve this! At least, that was what he thought until he recalled the incident with the spiked moonberry jello, and his mouth twisted in what could have been compunction. Not his proudest moment as Lord Kain's second-in-command.

It wasn't as if locking him in here with the comatose paladin would help matters. I mean, the man was impossible to wake - he would know, as he had spent hours trying to rouse the man from his drinking binge that one time when Lance had intruded upon him in his Undercity quarters. Which brought back certain other memories... Gah! It was disgusting, all of it!

And yet, he felt himself afflicted by something... something like a DoT. If he wasn't in so much denial, he might have called it remorse. Standing there, leaning against the barricaded door, he thought to himself, thought about all the hours he and Lance had shared together. He thought of their first meeting, eons ago and long before he had risen to the top ranks - before either of them had.

It had been a long time ago...

He shook his head, sensing an incoming flashback and blocking it with distaste. No, all that needed to be known about that first encounter could be said in a sentence. An undead warrior was ganked by a human paladin, who seemed to take it as a matter of 'serving the Light' that he 'purge the lands' of 'unholy abominations'. It hadn't made a great first impression, to say the least.

But things had changed since then, beyond the realms of logic. After they had been stuck in the Undercity elevator, they gained some sort of... connection. Not unlike what Silya and Alyane seemed to have going on, which even Yuren, with all of his spies and information - what? Oh, never mind. Forget that.

And then, the finger incident, in which all sorts of ridiculous things had happened. Why in Hellfire Peninsula he had kissed Lance that day, he couldn't fathom. But ever since then, their... 'relationship'... had become much more complicated, to the point that he had doubts as to what kind of relationship it was in the first place.

And this made the fact that Lance was unconscious on the bed, feet away, slightly reminiscent of that blood-elven tale... 'Sleeping Gorgeous'.

* * *

Note: I will have some drawings/sketches of the characters up on my Deviantart soon, which is SekanaKatayama. Go see them if you're interested.

Extra: Due to my own stupidity, I accidentally wrote the first bit of the Lance/Yuren section from Lance's point of view instead of Yuren's... which doesn't make sense because Lance was supposed to be the one unconscious. Have a look.

* * *

"Oh, for all that is Holy!" Lance swore, which was quite fitting as he, himself, was Holy. "This is... this is..." He then sighed, and his shoulders sagged due to his exhalation and his humongous pauldrons.

He turned around and let himself fall back against the door, which now wasn't even budging. They must have shoved something against it. He didn't deserve this! At least, that was what he thought until he recalled the incident with the spiked moonberry jello, and winced. Not his proudest moment as a paladin.

When he stopped to think about it, though, he wasn't terribly unhappy with the situation. It wasn't as if he was angry at Yuren - quite the opposite. He was upset that the undead warrior didn't accept his feelings - Lance's or his own, if his surmisings were correct. And, having far more intellect than his warrior friend, he felt he ought to know better.

Which left him quite anger-less, now, as he guiltily let his gaze crawl up from the floor and rest on the undead -

OH WAIT.


	5. Chapter 5

And now, in another very special chapter of _Friends Will Be Friends_...

Someone gets pie'd in the face!

Someone is awoken from a magical sleep by a prince's kiss!

Someone is shamelessly making notes of ways to seduce a certain night-elf!

Someone reenters the scene after her brief respite and makes things a whole lot more complicated!

Someone decides to give a pair of former-matchmakers a taste of their own medicine!

Someone ends up clutching a Lunar Festival silk pillow with tumultuous emotions.

Stay tuned to see how many of these are actually in this chapter... hmm.

**Also: **Thanks to Copycat1773 for the pie thing... I was waiting until the opportune moment to use it.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Yuren paced the room, all too conflicted as he pondered his options. Lance was clearly unconscious, and the water that had dampened the pillow spoke of a failed attempt to wake him in a more violent way. If a bucket of water didn't work, why would anything else? What were they expecting him to do, barricaded into the room like this? He supposed that, being the cliche-minded fellows they were, they expected him to bestow a magical kiss upon Lance, miraculously waking him from an accursed sleep.

Well, he had only three words to say to _that_... No. Fucking. Way.

"What I wouldn't give for some thistle tea," he grumbled, but nearly no one save rogues carried the stuff, as all it did was zap you awake. And since people normally did not, I don't know, _go into comatose states for no reason_, he did not happen to be carrying any.

There had to be some way, though. He grudgingly stalked over to the bed to observe Lance's still form, chest rising and falling gently, clearly in a state of deep sedation. Yuren struggled to recall how Naralex had been roused from the Emerald Dream, but after a few moments he gave up. Anyway, the Emerald Dream was a whole 'nother matter altogether.

Frustrating rising, he snapped, "Lance. Lance!" No response, of course.

He seethed for a few moments and then began to wrack his brain for more ideas. I mean, surely there was something he could do, as the main tank of the Guild, to get Lance's aggro. Er, attention. He folded his arms and went into a defensive stance, not that it wasn't much different from the way he usually stood. He didn't really want to sunder Lance's armor, seeing as that would make the situation much more awkward when he woke.

Maybe he could taunt him.

"You have to be the worst paladin I've _ever _seen," Yuren accused, feeling odd talking to someone who couldn't hear him, to say the least. "I, ah, you're just awful. Really awful. _Bachi _would make a better paladin than - oh, right. Forgot he was actually a paladin..."

He abruptly lost his tram of thought and had to refocus. Perhaps if he just bashed Lance some more? He would have to do a much better job of it this time. Hmm...

"Anyway, I bet you've broken your vow of chastity more times than a... than a group of noobs wipes on Halls of Reflection!" Lance twitched! Good, he'd have to keep this up. "I bet you have so many romance novels, you have tea with Confessor Paletress and discuss all the newest plotlines!" He wasn't going to say, however, how he knew that the confessor collected them.

But Lance was still not stirring. And suddenly, Yuren found himself growing absolutely... furious. His arms unfolded, he hunched just slightly and took on what could only be called a berserker stance as his rage bar began to fill.

He hadn't felt this much Fury in a long time, and despite himself... he found himself ecstatic at the rage overflowing from him. He looked directly at Lance and issued a challenging shout, one that could not fail to gain his aggro.

"I bet you wouldn't last thirty seconds in a duel against Kain!" His recklessness persisted as he added, "I've always said that he's twice the paladin you'll ever be!"

Panting from yelling so much, he looked hopefully at Lance. No reaction. Damn, he was losing his touch!

* * *

Liam had been fortunate enough to not incur Nahir's wrath after leaving the dining area. His 'mentor' had insisted that they fill out a large stack of papers consisting of all sorts of obligatory information. As well as what Liam thought was very private information and not at all necessary for his 'stay' at the institution. I mean, did they really need to know if he had any nicknames? That was kinda a touchy subject for him, not to mention, in some cases, on that wasn't entirely appropriate for a professional discussion.

At present, he was confined to the by-now familiar room where they had talked in depth before. It was apparently Nahir's office room, as it sported more of the Lunar Festival silk pillows, in varying garish shades of magenta, gold, and bright green. Yes, the walls and floor were painfully blank, but that didn't excuse decorations that practically called out for attention. They were strangely distracting, especially when their discussion wasn't all that engaging.

"Liam, are you listening?" Nahir chided, and Liam was almost mournful that he had not paid attention, as this meant he would have to start his timer over. He was trying for a new record of wrathless Nahir time. Whatever the hell that meant.

"Yeah, yeah," he said in plain boredom. "What was the question?"

"I asked you whether you preferred limes or lemons," Nahir reminded him with a hint of distaste that gave the wayward hunter an idea. An idea that would probably get him into more trouble.

"Well, I happen to be quite fond of both," Liam answered, keeping his tone carefully polite before adding conspiratorially, "Though I see you don't like either."

"That is of no consequence to you," Nahir said with a note of finality. "Now, for the next - "

"But it _could _concern me," Liam cut in dangerously, trying to keep his tone even. "What if I wanted to, say, share a nice lime with you? Perhaps have a lemon on a hot afternoon?"

Nahir's narrowing eyes told him that his mentor was quite aware of the euphemisms, and when he spoke it was with a frayed restraint. "This is no place for misguided flirtation."

"Flirtation?" Liam echoed, face carefully blank. "Whatever do you mean?"

Nahir looked about ready to scowl, but he moved onto the next question before his patient could continue their divergent discussion. "Now then, do you prefer populated city areas or less crowded rural areas?"

Liam paused, giving the question some thought before replying slyly, "I bet you'd think I'd like cities, but... I liked doing it out in the open air. I'm very into nature."

Nahir carefully did not ask what 'it' referred to, shaking his head and making some hasty notes. "All right, this one may give you some trouble."

Liam raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Which of these is more desirable," his mentor said tonelessly, as if pronouncing 'desirable' with too much emphasis might encourage his patient too much. "Becoming exalted with the Shattered Sun, or the Kirin Tor."

"That's tough," Liam said with surprise, before landing on a possible segue. "They both kiss up to you when you walk by them, don't they? I guess before I decide, I'd have to know... which one are you more closely affiliated with?"

"I would not compliment you if you had _999_ exalted with me," Nahir muttered, by the looks of it disregarding that question completely as he flipped to the next page.

Liam felt suddenly irritated at the callous way his mentor was brushing him off, and he interjected smoothly as he was about to speak, "I don't think you're being very supportive of my fragile state, 'mentor'."

"Yes, I can see that you are positively dying of a severe anxiety disorder," Nahir's sarcasm was startling at close range, especially knowing that he was a priest. Hell, he was probably a shadow priest. They all were now, what with dual-specs. Two-faced banshees.

"I could be," Liam said, hurt just a little. "I mean, there has to be _something _wrong with me, otherwise you would be wasting your time here."

"I already know what is wrong with you," Nahir said icily, and his gaze flickered to Liam in a way that made his blood freeze. "And as long as your blood-elven _hormones _are in good supply, I doubt you'll be able to resolve it."

This statement left Liam not only pained but confused as he tried to figure out just what the man had meant by it. Hormones? Sure, he joked a lot about sex, but who didn't? It was a blood-elf thing, wasn't it? And he was only using it to get on Nahir's nerves, which apparently it had. One thing was for sure - it was going to take a long time for him to figure out his issues, and longer still to unravel Nahir's.

* * *

Long after Kain, Felfe, and Guanji had left in search of dinner, Yuren was still pacing inside the room, his only consolation the fact that he was undead and thus was not hungry despite being trapped in a room for hours on end. Lance's state was becoming increasingly ridiculous, and he was beginning to wonder just how the paladin could stay unconscious for so many hours. It was really quite unbelievable.

Pace, pace, pace. What could he do? He had tried everything he could think of. He had yelled, screeched, taunted, demoralized, and basically bashed Lance verbally to within an inch of life. Any other person would be completely at his attention by now. But not the comatose paladin, no.

The undead warrior stalked over to the bed for the millionth time that day, fuming still. He didn't want to _touch _him, but... he reached out and poked the man's pauldron with a skeletal finger. No reaction. He took him by the shoulders and shook him. Nothing.

"I'm going to _skin_ him," Yuren muttered mutinously, which didn't make sense because he was a blacksmith. "I swear I will."

He was nearing insanity, it felt like. With every passing moment, the idea of magically kissing the paladin awake made more and more sense. He attributed this to the fact that he had tried and failed with so many other, more logical methods. No! He would never live it down if he did something that sappy. But yet...

"Well, I give up."

Yes, he was definitely giving up - wait. He hadn't said that. But he was the only person in the room, so... Lance? No! Impossible!

But sure enough, when he looked back he was flabbergasted to see the paladin sitting up, rubbing his eyes but not appearing particularly sleepy. His undead jaw moved soundlessly up and down. He had nothing to say, he really didn't. His initial burst of anger at what looked like Lance feigning sleep for this entire time came and went like a Flamestrike, and his fury faded into relief that he wouldn't have to kiss the paladin after all.

"You were awake the whole time, weren't you?" the undead warrior said matter-of-factly, with just a bit of acid for added intensity. "Well, at least I didn't have to kiss you."

"I get a kiss?" Lance brightened immediately.

"No, you idiot!" Yuren snapped, and he moved away from the bed just in case. "They thought I would kiss you awake, like that ridiculous fairytale, if they locked me in here for long enough. But I would never... I mean, you're awake now anyway."

"Damn, I knew I should have held off for a few more minutes," Lance cursed under his breath.

"You're lucky I used up all my rage trying to wake you up," Yuren retorted, though his rage bar was beginning to refill, as it always did when Lance was around. "So let's get out of here, shall we?"

"Ah, yes," Lance hopped off the bed and went to the door, which he soon found was locked. "Got any explosives on you?"

"He immediately jumps to explosives..." the warrior sighed, before saying, "No, I have no _keys_, no _explosives_, and no gnome rogues hidden in my pockets to open that door. And even _if _we could open it, there appears to be a barricade of some kind. I'm guessing a large bookshelf."

"So when you said we should get out of here..." Lance trailed off, looking confused.

"I meant _hearth_, you fool!" Yuren rolled his eyes, and began activating the stone that he had already prepared in his hand.

As he began to cast, however, a green light surrounding him, the paladin just had to run up and seize him by the shoulders, eyes wild as if he had recalled something of great importance.

"Yuren," Lance said suddenly, "do you believe in love after life?"

Yuren kept casting, knowing he still had a few seconds left. "You mean life after love?"

"No, what I said." Lance looked exceedingly solemn for once.

"Why?" And the undead sighed, about to reach the end of the cast but asking despite this.

"Because..." Lance leaned closer to him, the green light drifting over his face in a way that was strangely beautiful. "I'm in love with you."

He felt human lips press to his just as his hearth activated. And then he was floating, drifting through that space, limitless white space, between the cast and his destination.

* * *

Kain, Felfe, and Guanji were now in the kitchen area of the mansion, all staring helplessly at the many cooking supplies. As none of them had a cooking skill worth mentioning, and they had locked up Yuren earlier, there was really no choice but ordering out. Unavoidable, really.

"Ah... Guanji, would you order us some..." Kain paused in thought, finding himself strangely distracted by the way Felfe was looking at him expectantly. "Some, that is, some food."

Guanji eyed him with a mixture of amusement and confusion and went to the Trade chat communication button to see what he could find that fell under the rather broad category of 'food'.

"Perhaps you could find Silya," the anxious paladin told Felfe, in an effort to - though it pained him - get the source of his nervousness to vanish for a short time, like every good rogue. "She will most likely be in her quarters."

When Felfe left, and with Guanji engaged in ordering said 'food', Kain sat down with a sigh in one of the chairs out in the dining room. Guanji's comment earlier, about how he and Felfe were having 'nice times' or some such nonsense, had been super-effective on him. And now he couldn't forget it. Yes, of course he had wanted to do those sorts of things to Felfe since he had met him, practically. That didn't make him a monster, did it? And yet...

The thought of those innocent eyes if he should suggest that they do such a thing... he felt like he would be contaminating the purest substance imaginable. Even though Felfe had claimed, back in that cave in the Searing Gorge, that he had wanted to go further... was that the night-elf talking, or the social pressure from their misguided friends, or perhaps even just his desire to please Kain, no double meaning intended.

So he had held off, stifled his more lustful feelings, and waited. He had wanted to wait until Felfe brought it up again - oh, Light, everything was a euphemism to his mind now! - and they had been in clear agreement on the matter. But things had changed, now. His pride as a man, as a blood-elf, was in question. Yes, it was true that no one suspected anything yet. But if they should ever find out that, after all this time, he and Felfe had not yet...

He would do it. Er, him. He would do Felfe.

He started making a list mentally, seizing on different ideas here and there, mixing and matching. Surely there had to be some way to pull this off without hurting either the night-elf's feelings or his own pride. There had to be.

* * *

Felfe found Silya in a very bad state. The blonde elf was sitting in an armchair, eyes glazed over as she robotically placed chocolates repeatedly into her mouth at habitual intervals. She seemed, at first glance, to be watching the MORMRIS... but after a few moments of attempting to watch as well, Felfe could only conclude that no person, unless mind-controlled, would be intentionally watching such a thing.

As he hesitated, having not stepped far enough into the room to be noticed yet, he saw tears start to stream from Silya's eyes. She wasn't actively crying, just eating more chocolates and gazing detachedly at the magical screen as what looked like rivers ran down her cheeks. It was time for some kind of intervention, and even if he wasn't a paladin he could still do something.

He stepped out of the shadows and was abruptly behind the armchair.

"Silya?" he asked carefully, hoping that his calm voice wouldn't surprise her.

She woke as if from a bad dream, though the dream went on within her eyes. "Huh? Felfe? What is it?"

"Dinner," Felfe told her gently, attempting a smile though he felt awfully sad for her right now. She hadn't even wiped the tears from her face, as if she didn't even feel them.

* * *

Dinner, as it happened, was a very awkward affair. Guanji and Felfe were pretending not to notice how differently Kain was acting, Kain was pretending that he was completely all right and that this was just how he always was, and everyone was feigning ignorance to Silya's ghostly presence. Silya, of course, did not notice much of anything, judging by the way she had poured her cup of moonberry juice over her glacial salmon like some sort of sauce.

When dinner ended, everyone minus Silya began to stack all the plates together and gather the remnants to save for tomorrow. The very distracted blood-elf mage only nodded distantly to them and rose from the table, apparently to retire to her room. Felfe didn't want to think about what was in store for her, judging by the state he had found her in.

Just as Silya was leaving, the door at the opposite side of the dining room banged open.

Felfe gasped. "Oh, shiv!"

Kain instinctively pulled Felfe to him at the sight of that familiar nemesis, Alyane. The three of them watched cautiously - Guanji with a great deal of interest - as the warlock and succubus (though Alyane had no minion present) walked determinedly around the table and towards where Silya's form had stilled, facing away from all of them.

Alyane had reached Silya, and without a hint of hesitation place a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't you da - "

Silya's words were interrupted as the warlock spun her around and captured her in a thorough kiss. She struggled, understandably, but Alyane was a master at these situations. The three wide-eyed onlookers were lost for words as the warlock kissed the mage soundly, holding her in a grip that looked to be made of steel.

Guanji gulped and said hollowly, "It be someting in da water, ja?"

* * *

Dinnertime at the institution was a disaster, though Liam didn't really know this as he entered, Nahir at his side. They had both been very quiet since Nahir's harsh words earlier, so upon reaching their destination they separated easily, and Liam reached Temarr and Wrenn, once he had his dinner tray, with much relief. He sat down beside Wrenn, opposite Temarr, and greeted them casually.

"How's that mentor of yours?" Wrenn asked conversationally, taking a bit of his apple as he scanned the crowd and located the frigid Nahir. "He seems very uptight."

Liam muttered something that was luckily unintelligible and started on his dinner, eying the slippery eel with no small amount of distaste. At least he might be slippery enough to dodge Nahir's insults after he ate it. Maybe.

"One might even wonder," Temarr added, in that dream-state of his, "If he has problems of his own."

"Well, everyone has problems," the paladin-in-training pointed out. "I mean, I'm in here by mistake but I still have problems. Like, you know, more normal problems. Self-esteem or something."

"No, not that," the warlock shook his head slowly, eyes still far-off until he turned to look at Nahir. "I would say he has not had sexual gratification in some time."

Liam nearly choked on a bit of eel, but it was slippery enough that it slid down his throat whole, rather than getting stuck halfway down.

"Wh-what!" he spluttered, and then tried to calm himself so as not to make a bigger fool out of himself than he already had with his intense reaction. "I mean, you're probably right. Yeah."

"I would also think," Temarr began wisely, the hint of what could have been a smile - blasphemy! - on his undead lips, "that you want to relieve him of this particular issue."

Liam covered up his embarrassment by consuming copious amounts of eel in-between nervous laughter and shaking his head in a way that made things that much more obvious.

"Oh, by all that is Holy!" Wrenn gasped, observing Liam's very manly blush. "You're right, Temarr!"

"No, he'sh nah!" Liam attempted defensively, bits of eel flying from his mouth and sliding far down the long table to where they met with disgusted looks from the other attendees. He chewed the rest of the food in his mouth and tried again with, "I hate that guy! I swear, he's some kinda sadist, it's like he doesn't even want to help me! There's no way I would ever - "

He stopped when Temarr pointed at him.

"What, why are you..." A feeling of dread sank in, and the very unlucky hunter looked back over his shoulder to see that very last thing he wanted to see now.

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," Nahir told him coolly, tray in hand. "I was going to bring you this cherry pie, but... I suppose I should live up to your expectations and eat it myself."

While Liam was stalling for time, trying to think of something to say as his mentor stood there expectantly, he saw Wrenn, wild-eyed, seize a handful of slippery eel. What was he...

The next moment, the paladin had flung a large chunk of eel out into the crowd, where it hit a large tauren and slid off his face with a resounding 'schlick' noise. The tauren stood up, located the elven paladin's outstretched hand, and stomped over, tray in hand. All had gone quiet, though Liam and Nahir weren't exactly paying attention.

Even as the tauren was stalking over to their table, Liam was trying to reason with his icy mentor.

"I mean, really, I was just being stupid, I mean..."

The tauren arrived at the table, took a hoof-full of greasy eel bits, and mashed it all into Wrenn's face without a single word. Silence. And then, ever-so-calmly, Temarr took his glass of skethyl-berry juice and upended it over the monstrous figure. He had to stand on the bench to do so, and this evidently spurred the rest of the dining hall into action, as if he was some kind of hero. Unfortunately, Wrenn's initial effort to avert the rising crisis between mentor and patient was failing completely, as they were in a world of their own.

"And it was just, ah, I didn't want to, er, the truth is you're a pretty cool mentor or whatever, and - " Still unaware of the fight about to break out, Liam was still engaged in his discussion with Nahir, who was not buying a single word of it.

"I have heard teenage gnome females spin a better tale than that," Nahir said, and ice cracked somewhere in the distance, as if to tell Liam that he ought to be very, very careful. "You do not deserve this pie. I will simply have to eat it myself."

In the background, a food fight the likes of which had never been seen was playing out. Temarr and Wrenn were scrambling to defend themselves, as well as blocking Nahir and Liam's forms from afar. The tauren who had first retaliated was apparently now on their side - Temarr had surmised hastily that said tauren probably had memory problems of some kind - which gave them an advantage. Elsewhere, other tables were also becoming victim to the urge to throw food, and the fact that it was slippery eel made it even more tempting.

For one, the eel was absolutely disgusting to eat. Secondly, its slippery texture made it far more hilarious to throw than most food items, as it tended to bounce off things and slide across tables.

Liam, of course, had not noticed any of it until just then, when Nahir had mentioned the pie. Looking around when he at last began picking up on the guttural war-cries of the institute's many patients, he saw the way they were taking out their primal frustrations, throwing greasy eel every which way.

"If I can't have it," he muttered, and he began to smirk as he looked up at Nahir and rose to his feet. "Then I won't let you have it, either!"

With a resounding, mushy SQUELCH of a noise, Liam pie'd his mentor in the face.

The world seemed to stop, time slowing drastically, as he stood there savoring his victory, heartbeats racing. He felt like everyone had fallen silent to watch with awe at such an epic show of vengeance, though in reality no one noticed or cared, being that they were far too distracted by the bits of eel flying and sliding everywhere.

Nahir, to his credit, said nothing as he seized Liam's wrist - impressive in itself, considering he didn't look like he could even see - and dragged him out of the dining hall. The food-fight continued despite their absence, though that made little difference to either of them as they left its volatile war-area for the very empty hallway beside it.

When they were a suitable distance away from the hotspot, meaning that they could only occasionally hear a scream or two, Nahir halted. And spoke, somehow, through the pie that he was only now trying to wipe off of his face.

"_You_," he began, in a voice so frightening it could be used to send even those with Nerves of Steel running away in fear, "are - "

Liam, figuring he was in trouble as it was, scooped some of the more lumpy bits of pie off his mentor's face and used it to stuff his mouth, cutting off further speech. Apparently, this move was just too much for Nahir, and he froze up. Whether from shock, pure fiery wrath, or perhaps even the delicious taste of pie in his mouth, no one would ever know.

"I like you better when you're not talking," Liam purred, and as he stood there, unsure of how he had gotten that close to his mentor in the first place, he noted three things.

One, they were in a deserted hallway, and anyone of importance was either participating in or trying to stop the raging Food War in the dining hall.

Two, Nahir was speechless, blinded, and in an evident stunlock that would not wear off for at least five more seconds.

Three, uh... well, let's just chalk up #3 to blood-elven hormones.

He leaned forward and licked Nahir's cheek, clearing a clean path between the dripping cherry sauce and bits of pie crust. This seemed to stun him further, which was to his favor as he licked again, this time at the corner of his mouth. Now at his chin, and now...

Liam was abruptly engaged in either kissing Nahir or consuming the pie he had stuffed into his mentor's mouth, perhaps both. His tongue was attempting to clear the consumable from the mouth it suddenly wanted to explore to completion, and as the pie mysteriously vanished - had he eaten it somehow? - he lost himself in his endeavor.

He belatedly realized that his hands were on either side of Nahir's face as he kissed him soundly. They were sticky, covered with cherry sauce but he thought vaguely that he didn't care. His tongue entwined with the other elf's as he kissed him, their mouths sliding together with the added benefit of the strong cherry flavor. The cherry flavor that was, he reckoned, soon going to be a new favorite of his.

And then it was over, and he was being pushed off of a very breathless Nahir, whose face was at least less pie'd now what with the licking and the remainder that was stuck to Liam's hands now. His expression was unreadable, to say the least, but he wasn't murderous any longer. Had Liam had any ounce of confidence just then, he might have attributed this to his spectacular kissing talents. 5/5 in improved tongue-kissing, if you must know.

"What is it you want, Liam?" Nahir asked him, still out of breath and looking very, very serious. "What do you want from me?"

Liam stayed silent, already afraid of what would happen to him if he answered. Sure, Nahir didn't look as intimidating as he had before. And certainly not with all that cherry sauce still on his face. Mmmm, cherry sauce... he licked his lips and tasted it again, along with a more subtle taste that could have been Nahir. Maybe he really _did _have problems.

"Well?" And Nahir drew closer to him, seizing him by the shoulder as he was not wearing a shirt and thus could not be seized by the collar. "What do you want? Sex?"

Liam couldn't help his smirk. "If you're asking, sure."

But to his eternal confusion, Nahir only observed him for a moment longer before scowling and saying, "Fine."

"Wha... what?" He blinked and tried to recall if that he really been what his mentor had said to him.

"I can tell that you will not let this go until you have what you desire," Nahir said frigidly, his inner frost-mage returning all too quickly. "We will go to my office and... take care of this. And then you will forget that any of this took place."

* * *

**Sex? In Sekana's series? This is madness!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: **Rating going up due to Liam's vocabulary and possible sexytimes.  
As well as for interesting stuff that somehow works its way in these chapters. Sometimes I don't even know what I'm writing, I swear...

And now, in another very special chapter of _Friends Will Be Friends_...

Two elves get some action (caution: there are three different pairings involving two elves)!  
Someone gets mage-slapped!  
Two people discover a time-space continuum effect relating to hearthstones!  
Someone finally fixes both elevators!  
The institution has a field trip!  
Someone gets lost in Dalaran (don't we all)!  
More old faces return!  
Someone neglects her chocolates at last!  
Someone's arena rating is in jeopardy!

Read on to see whether any of these are in this chapter!

**Note: **I feel so racist. I just realized that, out of all the pairings I'm writing in this series, three of them consist of only night-elves and blood-elves. Lance and Yuren, of course, are the odd exception.

I think I may need some more characters (everyone cringes at the thought of yet _more _characters to keep track of). I don't have a single named Tauren, Gnome, Orc, Dwarf, or Draenei as of yet. And I also don't have any female undead, female trolls, female humans, female night-elves... you get the picture. I'll have to put some thought to this.

... Not to mention the upcoming Worgen and Goblins due to Cataclysm. Which will also make all of my references even _more _outdated... joy.

**Further Note: **Pie IS kinky.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Nahir pulled him into the office and shut the door, and Liam half-sat, half-fell into the cushions with a feeling of complete disorientation. He numbly watched his mentor lock the door and then walk over to the desk, where he pulled a cloth out of some drawer and began to wipe the remnants of cherry pie from his face. Speechless, he could say nothing even as Nahir straightened up, having finished with his cleansing, and began to unlace the back of his nearly spotless angelic-white robes.

Somehow, this was just too much, and Liam found himself shocked into action.

"H-hey, wait!" he burst out, hand outstretched as if he could halt his mentor's movements with it. But he hadn't thought of what he was going to say, so his effort to stall for time was met with little success.

Nahir considered him coolly as he continued to unlace the robes, tone neutral. "I was under the impression that you had asked for this."

"No! I mean, well, yeah, but..." Liam cursed under his breath, mind going in as many different directions as an Onyxia raid without fear ward. Simple sentences no longer made any sense at all. For instance, he wanted to do it with Nahir, but he didn't. Nahir was going to do it with him, but he didn't want to. Nahir, that is. Liam was pretty sure he wanted to. Except that he didn't. See?

He was effectively distracted from his misgivings by the slight whisper of cloth hitting the floor, and the next moment he was covering his face like a small child and muttering various nonsensical curses under his breath. He had only looked for an instant, but he had managed to absorb every detail of that angelic form from the curve of his shoulder to... He had seen too much.

"And what is wrong with you now, dare I ask?" Nahir's voice floated over to him, and to Liam's rising panic - among other things - it was closing in on him.

Step.

"D-don't get any closer!" he threatened, but he knew he wasn't terribly intimidating seeing as he was unarmed and wearing only the loose pants that the institution had clothed him in. And he was still desperately trying not to look directly at him as he scrambled for a viable excuse of some kind.

Step.

"One would think you hadn't just asked me for this," the smooth voice said, sharpening near the end of his words. "If I think you are attempting to prolong this... _arrangement_... with your whining, you will regret it."

Step.

Liam swore again and bodily turned from Nahir to face the wall, gathering his wits as best he could. "For all that is Holy, put some clothes on!"

Step.

Although Nahir _was_ a Holy priest, Liam's command went unheeded as he at last approached the hunter's frozen form. With abrupt, frightening intensity, the priest seized by the shoulder and turned him back around so that they were facing each other. Green eyes blazed with an icy chill that could never be mimicked by any sort of enchantment. Liam could not move.

"This is going to be quick and unpleasant enough that you will cease your pointless advances towards me," Nahir told him, and it was as if frozen shards were piercing Liam deep with every additional word. "Is that clear?"

"No, I - " he had wanted to protest, to say something that made _sense_, but when Nahir's hands went for the waistband of his pants, he lost all track of everything.

What a poor excuse for a hunter he was.

"I said _quick_, didn't I?" Nahir said, clearly annoyed, as Liam seized the offending wrists and stopped them from ridding him of his pants. "I do not remember specifying such things as foreplay in my agreement."

It was frustratingly, devastatingly difficult for Liam to think straight in this situation, particularly with the object of his infatuation standing there much too close to him, completely unclothed. So he did what any desperate, confused, disturbed blood-elf male would - he yelled out something that he made up as he went along.

"No, don't - Nahir, I..." he gulped as his mentor's hands, surprisingly strong for a priest, slid from his grip, and he panicked. "I don't want to fucking... uh... _fuck_ you!"

Judging by Nahir's twitchy eyebrow, he was not impressed with this level of vocabulary as he replied, "In that case, might I ask what we are doing here?" But the hands did retreat.

So now Liam was sitting on the cushions, clasping the waistband of his pants to him like a virgin gnomelette while Nahir was half-kneeling in front of him, appearing unconcerned with his state of undress. And Liam was not at all sure how to answer the question at hand, so he gave an awkward cough and scooted farther away from the threat, to the point that he coincidentally backed himself against a wall.

"I don't... I don't _want_ to," he protested weakly, shame seeping through him at his lack of masculinity at present. "I was just joking back there, I swear!" He winced at how pathetic his voice sounded when it reached the air.

Nahir's eyes were narrowed in that deadly way of his as he stated slowly, "Liam, you must think I have the observational skills of a bat that's had Holy Fire cast in its face. Did you think I would not notice, being that I am _assigned to understand you_, how you look at me, how you constantly make your base sexual jokes around me?"

Liam felt very tempted to feign death, but found himself unable to move again.

Nahir paused, and went on with the final, killing blow. "Did you really think that I would not notice when you threw a pie at my face, licked it off, and proceeded to kiss me like an enraged rhino?"

Had Liam been in any state to think, he might have commented that he did not know of any rhinos that enraged, and he certainly did not kiss like one. But, as he was struck dumb by Nahir's frightening presence - something even skilled paladins like Kain did not possess - he did not question his mentor's words.

No, he did not question anything, but he did fumble through the lousiest explanation since Kael'thas' revenge speech at Magister's Terrace. "That was just - I was - damn it! Leave me alone, yeah? If I kissed you, it was just because, you know, all that, and..."

"Do you have any idea what you're saying?" Nahir interrupted, now drawing closer to him again in a way that froze his blood. "Because I cannot begin to understand."

"All right, all right!" Liam admitted hastily, and rushed through what were possibly the most embarrassing lines he had ever spoken. "I _do _wanna fuck you, okay? But not like this! Not now!"

The blonde elf was looking at him with a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and a smidgeon of curiosity. "You are saying, as far I can tell, that doing so would _not _fix anything?" His appraisal of Liam looked to be shifting slightly as he considered what this would mean.

"Y-yeah, that's... that's what I was saying," the hunter blurted out, relieved that his mentor's approach had been halted, like an incoming mob temporarily incapacitated. The real trick was... for how long?

"Well then, what _would _make you cease your ridiculous advances, pray tell?" Nahir asked, much too polite considering the state they were both in.

The red-haired hunter, greatly distracted by the naked torso in front of him, threw his mentor one of the tasseled silk pillows before muttering, "Why would I _want_ to stop?"

As he bravely looked back at Nahir - who was kindly covering himself partially with the provided pillow - he saw with surprise that the priest was calculating, confused. Liam's heart jumped in his chest at the absent-minded expression, for whatever reason, and for a moment he nearly said, 'forget it, let's go!' before he stopped himself.

"If I am interpreting this correctly," Nahir said, with evidence of much misgivings, "you intend to pursue me... indefinitely? Why would you wish to do such a thing?" And harsh green eyes looked to him for a plausible answer, of which he had none. So he bs'd his way through it all with a classic hunter quote.

"What fun is the catch without a chase?" he said quietly, and managed a half-grin that he was pretty sure was not impressing anyone.

* * *

Silya had been much too stunned by Alyane's actions to protest at first, and when she did, her former mentor had expertly held her there against her will. Now that she had been released, she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and did her damnedest to look intimidating though she was shaking inside. With too much rage for any spellcaster, she exploded once again, having been pushed to the breaking point by all those elven soap operas.

The three onlookers faded out of the room to her eyes that saw only Alyane, still standing so close as if she was about to try again, since her succubus skills clearly hadn't ensnared Silya as she had intended. But Silya wasn't about to let that happen.

"You think," she began, in a deadly whisper, "that kissing me is going to erase all the lies you've piled on me? You're so..." An intake of breath as she tried to contain herself.

"STUPID!"

Tears burst from her eyes but she turned and stalked out of the room before anyone could be quite sure what was happening. Alyane was standing there, at a loss for one of the first times in her life. She was simply standing, silent and statuesque, peering at the doorway through which her former student had disappeared.

Guanji blurted out into the unnatural silence, "Joo betta go afta her! Dat be how it..." He cringed under Kain's harsh expression. "...works..."

Alyane didn't even look back at them, but instead strode gracefully towards the doorway, clearly pretending that she hadn't needed a troll's advice to figure out her social dilemma. Yes, the mistress of passion herself could not solve this one. Not with any of the abilities she had come to depend on.

* * *

As the moon was beginning to rise in the darkening sky, Confessor Paletress retired to her chambers and brewed herself a nice cup of honeymint tea. After a long day of battle in the Trial of Champions, she was quite worn out. She had been so tired during that last fight that she had not even known which nightmare she was summoning. It had ended up being a young goretusk, and the group at hand had sported various expressions of confusion and amusement as they took it down within a few moments of its summoning. She thought, with a heavy sigh, that she might never live that one down.

Last week she had accidentally summoned Hogger.

But who was to expect anything different? They had her fighting in this damned tournament every single day, and even her level of commitment to the Light did not mean that she was inhuman. She still needed to rest, to think about her own needs sometimes. She took her tea to her sitting room and set it down on an oaken side table by her favorite armchair, feeling the weariness in her very bones.

Exhausted, she made her way to the bookshelves and scanned the rows and rows of novels that she had collected over the years. All of them were bound beautifully, with titles like 'Ageless in the Light', and 'Whitemane's Story: A Life of Serving the Light Turned to Darkness', and even 'The Priestess's Guide to Chastity'. She never read any of these, and had only scanned them when first she had obtained their dry pages. No, with a small smile she pushed aside the bookshelf, which slid easily to the side along the wall.

The compartment behind the for-show bookcase was her real treasure. The loot in this cache was epic - every single Steamy Romance Novel ever written, as well as a few she had written herself. An eccentric little laugh escaped her as she recalled, once again, that 'The Priestess's Guide to Chastity' had never mentioned a certain alternative to seeking sexual partners. Which meant that she was, quite literally, free to please herself.

* * *

Yuren dusted himself off after he appeared, rather haphazardly, in the middle of A Hero's Welcome, one of two inns in Dalaran. He nearly undied again when he saw that Lance was standing beside him, also brushing himself off with a puzzled expression. They locked gazes, and then Yuren noticed a few heroes staring, and he dragged Lance down the stairs that led into an empty stone corridor.

With fewer people around to care, the undead warrior unleashed his... well, shock. "How did you get here! I thought your hearth went to - "

"The Argent Grounds, yes, but... wait, how did you know that?" Lance was just beginning to recover when he noticed that crucial detail that once again threw him off balance.

"I have all sorts of information," Yuren waved off the paladin's questions and went on with, "So how did you get _here_, then?"

"Well, I..." And the paladin's face grew blank as he recalled, and then a sort of wonder came over him. "It must have been when I kissed you. Somehow, I must have activated some sort of... something that took me with you when you hearthed!"

"Brilliant!" Yuren exclaimed, nearly excited, but the next moment he returned to his usual tone of voice with, "So now what?"

"Well, I guess I'll take a portal to Ironforge and fly up to Southshore, then waltz right into Undercity and back to the mansion." The paladin was either gutsy or a complete idiot, and Yuren happened to know that it was the latter.

"No, I don't think so," Yuren countered, and then mused morbidly to himself, "I wonder if we could use that same spell to take you with me when I port to Undercity..."

"It's worth a try," Lance said, waggling his golden paladin eyebrows suggestively.

Yuren rolled his eyes and said only, "We'll get there somehow. I suppose I could always just meet you _outside_ the city, genius." And he cleverly avoided bringing up that which was forbidden - Lance's love confession, which he had so far left unanswered.

* * *

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Felfe said nervously as they stood in the kitchen, holding a three-person council on the goings-on of the two females, already having forgotten that they had locked Lance and Yuren in one of the guest rooms. Which would have been quite cruel if the two hadn't managed to escape.

"Dey be fine, mon!" Guanji laughed, but his cheerfulness cooled under Kain's persisting glare.

"Kain, I'm sure nothing awful could happen..." Felfe told his 'lover', turning to him and placing a hand gently on his arm. "After all, there were things that happened to us that we thought were bad, but here we are!"

Kain was placated by his night-elf's words, luckily, and he only sighed and took Felfe into his arms, hugging him awkwardly since Guanji was eying them with a sickeningly happy grin at their obvious 'happy ending'. A happy ending that hadn't actually happened yet, at least not how everyone was thinking. But that wasn't the only thing on Kain's mind at present.

"Yes, that is true." He withdrew from the night-elf but took his hand hesitantly, distracted. "But she is my sister, after all."

"Joo can't help da worryin', dat be it." Guanji nodded sagely. "Jolinda say da same ting bout her sisters."

"Jolinda?" Kain and Felfe echoed in unison, turning slightly to look at Guanji with interest, having never heard him mention troll friends before.

Guanji managed to pale and flush at the same time, so that now his skin was something between pink and light blue. "Ah... she be... jus' a friend, joo know, like..."

"Is she your girlfriend, Guanji?" Felfe exclaimed excitedly, and his hand left Kain's - to the blood-elf's regret - to heartily congratulate the troll, taking one of Guanji's large trollish hands in both of his and shaking it. "That's great!"

"Well, she and I be not... like dat," Guanji muttered sheepishly, and added, "But I be goin' on a date wit her, to Dalaran."

"Dalaran, wow!" Felfe ooh-ed, letting go of the hand in his distraction. "I've never been there, but I've heard that it's beautiful..."

Kain saw his opportunity and took it easily, feeling his blood-elven heritage coming back to him already. "Why don't Felfe and I come along, Guanji? We can make it a double-date."

Guanji grinned broadly, though he still looked nervous, but at least he was cheered on by Felfe. Felfe, who was now turning on Kain with bright eyes - well, brighter eyes - and smiling like the sun coming out on a rainy day when your faction has lost all the Wintergrasp battles and no one has gotten any stonekeeper's shards. Kain smirked, feeling quite pleased with himself as he saw Felfe sway slightly. He placed his hands on the night-elf's shoulders to steady him, having unleashed his high-powered smirk as a test.

He looked over at Guanji and inquired, "Just when is this date?"

"It be tomorrow night," the troll answered queasily, and Kain could tell that he wasn't feeling very confident about the whole thing.

The blood-elf weighed his priorities, and decided. And then his morals kicked in - Felfe's touch, really - and he decided something else entirely. He would do this for the good of... well... Guanji. For once. The poor troll deserved it, after everything all of them had been through together.

"Guanji, why don't you and I talk for a while? About the date," he added, and gave Felfe a quick kiss on the lips before wishing him a good night.

"What about me?" Felfe asked, posture showing he was confused and just a little hurt.

"Now, now," Kain leaned close to him, lips at his elven ear. "That would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

He inwardly congratulated himself as the night-elf's expression turned to awe, and his lover said a hurried goodnight before scampering off to his room, clearly enthused about the prospect of not only a date but a surprise along with it.

"So, Guanji, let us talk of women..." he began dryly, and by Guanji's face-splitting grin, he got the joke.

Friends will be friends, after all.

* * *

Silya didn't even close the door when she finally reached her room. Losing all her strength suddenly, she sank to her knees in the middle of the room and just cried. She was all twisted up inside, she had no idea what she was doing, or even what anyone else was doing. Why had Alyane kissed her? What was she expecting? She couldn't possibly have thought that the mage would just melt in her arms and everything would be solved... that was madness, that was MORMRIS material. Her thoughts went on like that, around and around in circles, as she more-or-less sat there, robe spreading out around her on the floor like a lake, all sapphire blue. Just like a lake...

She couldn't help it, she just needed to cry now, and that was what she did. She cried so hard that she might as well have been doused in the water she so detested, her face was so wet. She cried so hard that she didn't even notice the soft footsteps that stopped at her doorway. Back to the doorway, she did not know someone was watching as her whole body trembled. A distraught, tangled mess.

"Silya..." a voice said softly, very gently. With a jolt, she easily identified it as Alyane's despite how sincere it sounded.

"Go 'way," she countered weakly, barely managing to get the words out when her body was shaking all over. It was odd how she had broken down so far that she didn't even really care anymore. Alyane was here, but so what? Let her see. Let her feel ashamed for what she had caused. But that wasn't it... Silya didn't know what it was, but she had no strength left to push Alyane away again.

"You were right," Alyane admitted with some difficulty, and Silya heard the door close softly as the warlock stepped farther into the room, closer to her. "I was... stupid."

"Y-yeah," Silya agreed through tears, though she could have been saying anything, really.

Alyane sat down beside her, with her usual grace, and out of the corner of her eyes Silya could see that her ex-mentor was cautiously observing her face. Her sobs weren't stopping, though they had calmed momentarily at the knowledge that Alyane had seen her. No, they were now back in full force, and it would take a 40-man raid, fully buffed and experienced, to kill the sorrow deep inside her.

Alyane, understandably intimidated, offered carefully, "Handkerchief?" And Silya saw a folded mageweave handkerchief, violet with silver embellishings, in the warlock's outstretched hand.

She didn't want the handkerchief, but she took it anyway with a half choked, "Wha-atever."

"I have made a mess of things, haven't I?" Alyane mused, regret infiltrating her lovely, almost musical voice. "I'm afraid I don't know how to handle this."

"This?" Silya echoed her, tears still streaming down her face as she tried to forcefully stop her shaking. "What is 'this'! You never bother to tell me, do you?" Anger poured forth in her words, and her tears redoubled and began to sting her eyes until she had to scrub at them with her sleeves. Forget the stupid handkerchief.

"I... I am not sure how to express..." Alyane faltered further, and Silya could not see the hesitance in her eyes. The blonde mage was blinded by her tears and was still absorbed in trying to relieve her stinging eyes.

"Silya, I..." the warlock made an odd noise of what could have been frustration, though it was much too dignified to be called that. "I... care for you. Very deeply."

"You've already said that, so I don't see how that would help me." Silya had managed to cease trembling, though her face still housed two steady rivers. But she did see something strange... Alyane's hand twitched as it sat there on the warlock's lap. Just a small, insignificant thing if it had been anyone else, but Alyane? Such a lack of control was astounding in her.

Said lack of control became even more noticeable when Alyane spoke, face a mask of calm barely holding together. "I... have difficulty using words... when I have utilized physical expression for such a long time." And her hand shifted, clenched, where it was contained at her side.

"Well, guess what?" Silya said bitingly, but when she went to continue she found her voice had lost its animosity. "I have no idea what... what you meant back there. That. I can't... I can't _interpret _anything you do!" She just sounded full of desperation, not anger.

"Hand," Alyane murmured, and there must have been something before that but Silya hadn't caught it until the deathly beautiful woman repeated it in a tone that seemed somehow strained. "Give me your hand."

Silya's hand moved on its own, and Alyane took it in hers, that hand that had been so restless at her side. It was warm, pleasant even, but Alyane seemed if possible even more conflicted. As Silya watched with growing, morbid fascination, the warlock closed her eyes tightly and let out a hiss of breath, not a sigh but something containing more anxiety.

When Alyane opened her emerald eyes, they sought Silya's and captured them. They were open, full of emotions she could not even perceive. Emotions she hadn't known the statue of a woman had possessed. A strangled desolace seemed to hold her by the throat even as she held Silya's hand, and when Alyane opened her mouth, no words came out. Something had effectively silenced the warlock.

Silya observed, confused and just a little afraid to see her mentor - no, she wasn't that anymore - in such a state. She was concerned enough that when Alyane raised the mage's hand to her lips, pressing a knight's kiss to it, she did not protest. And then Alyane turned her hand over, and her soft lips alighted on Silya's palm. Once, twice, ever so tenderly she kissed the vulnerable skin there, lingering with a lasting kiss on her wrist.

And then she understood, somehow, despite claiming that none of Alyane's actions could speak to her as words did. She felt it, with the slowly fading warmth at her wrist, the recognition that had been so late in arriving. Alyane gazed deep into her eyes, and as their eyes locked it was clear that they had reached a place where both were now on the same page at last.

"... F-for how long?" Silya asked, fumbling her words as Alyane's thumb began to stroke her palm.

"I do not know," Alyane sighed, and it was if her troubled demeanor dissolved through it. "A very long while, I feel."

"Now what?" the blonde elf whispered, looking at Alyane with a new awareness that was kind of frightening. "What happens now?"

Alyane smiled, actually smiled. "Whatever you wish, Silya." The way the other woman said her name, with that light and yet significant emphasis, made her heart skip a beat.

"Why don't you come live here with us?" Silya suggested tentatively, adding persuasively, "I mean, Lance and Guanji and Felfe are all living here. Yuren was here before, of course, and - "

"It would be my pleasure," Alyane replied with great satisfaction, and let it be known that the word at the end of that sentence, pronounced in her rich voice, was one of the most seductive agents in the known World.

* * *

Liam was in a cold sweat as Nahir walked him back to his room. After his ill-founded hunter quote, the priest had seemed twice as suspicious as before, and had proceeded to slip on his robe before informing Liam that he was not pleased with the fact that there seemed to be no quick, 'easy' way to rid himself of the hunter's advances. On that note, they had awkwardly - Liam, that is, Nahir was rarely anything but dignified - left the office and headed down the long, white hallways.

He didn't want to end the night like this, like a prisoner being shuffled off to his cell to sleep. His blood was still burning, in disappointed anticipation of something much more pleasurable. But he had been forced to refuse when he had realized what was really going on. That tricky bastard was just trying to get rid of him! He had thought that if he surrendered immediately, Liam would become satisfied with his catch and move on to another target, like most blood-elves. But he had underestimated something... something Liam himself didn't fully understand.

It was a seedling of curiosity. Something that had been growing inside his brain since he had first laid eyes on the angelic priest. At first he had believed him to be the most divinely beautiful being he had ever seen, but that had all changed with his mentor's harshness. But despite all the enmity between them, the cold gazes continually aimed his way, Liam was ensnared. Somehow, he had become fixated on the other elf, and every chilling glare only aroused his... curiosity further.

He was still entrenched in thought when they reached the door to his room, and that was when he decided. He had always been impulsive - one of his faults, and one of the reasons he had been taken to this facility - but this happened so quickly he didn't even feel like he had _known _he was going to do it.

Just as Nahir glanced over at him, unlocking the door, Liam felt something strange come over him, and he could only drift slowly towards the priest, cornering him easily against the blindingly white wall. Nahir stood very still, quite aware of his position, and seemed vaguely annoyed that the other elf was invading his space.

"Why aren't you fighting me?" Liam said softly, now closing in on Nahir until their bodies were nearly flush against one another. Something in the back of his head told him he was going to lose this duel, but his body ignored him as his hands slid down to the priest's waist, and he could feel skin, just barely, through the cloth.

Nahir, to his credit, did not flinch at their proximity, and fixed him with a scalding glare as he said, "You would enjoy my struggling, and I do not want to give you an ounce of satisfaction if you are going to do something like this."

"What would you prefer?" the hunter inquired smoothly, hands rubbing sensually up and down his mentor's sides.

Oh, no. A light had sparked in Nahir's calculating eyes, and that meant he knew something. Something he probably shouldn't have known. He had figured him out, or some such nonsense. And he was going to make some sort of move. Would he attempt to flee? It wasn't his style, but...

"And why would you care what _I _prefer?" Nahir said calmly, much too calmly, and he seemed to relax in Liam's grip.

This was dangerous territory, he noted as he wet his lips, thrown off his game, and _almost _said something incredibly stupid. "I want to - uh, a hunter must change his techniques depending on the prey." Yes, it had still sounded utterly ridiculous, but it had masked what he had almost said... _I want to get a rise outta you._

Uh oh. Danger. No, no, no, this was not good! Nahir's expression suddenly turned haughty, _seductive _even, as the light of recognition grew in his cold eyes. Liam got the feeling that _he _was the one trapped, despite the fact that he had the priest cornered, and it had been his idea in the first place. Damn it.

"I understand now," Nahir said slowly, pacing his words for the utmost effect, and on any other person his expression might have seemed... pleased. "This is a game for you. You want to see what it takes to get a response from me, don't you?"

Liam was startled by the way his mentor had nailed it so quickly, his thoughts that he hadn't voiced. "What? That's... that's..." But his denial faded as he saw Nahir begin to lean towards him, bridging the inconsequential distance between them and... Light, Nahir was even _closing his eyes_.

As Nahir's mouth met his, all Liam could think was... everything and nothing. His mind hummed with buzzing thoughts, and yet it was all silenced as the priest's lips slid against his, velvety texture catching him completely off guard as he stood there, hands unmoving at his mentor's waist. Nahir was... was kissing him. Why was he... what was he doing?

Hands, feathery-light, rose and rested against the sides of Liam's face, tilting it slightly to complement Nahir's until he withdrew briefly and then reconnected their lips. He wasn't nearly as inexperienced as Liam had thought. In fact, Liam's resolve was growing weaker by the second. After a few more moments of it, he even forgot what it was that he had resolved in the first place.

At last he lost it, and his ability to move was returned to him as he gave into the feeling of recklessness Nahir was inspiring. He pressed his mouth firmly to Nahir's just as the priest was poised to angle their lips together again, and this time he was not intent on being pushed away so easily. His grip on his mentor's waist tightened as he recaptured his lips, kissing him roughly as he savored the blonde elf's closed eyes. It looked like surrender to his overtasked mind.

As he pressed himself more firmly against Nahir, he forced a quiet gasp out of him. A thrill went through him at the sound, and he devoured it, tongue delving into the priest's mouth at the opportunity. His mentor was still not protesting, and contrary to what Nahir might have thought, this did not trouble him particularly at the moment.

If anything, the knowledge that Nahir was cooperating, for whatever reason, only made him want to take advantage of the situation for as long as possible. Or as long as their breath kept up.

Eventually, he had to pull away, and it was with heavy breaths that they parted. He kept his hands at Nahir's waist, kept him there as they panted, resting his forehead against the priest's out of desire for some kind of closeness, some kind of intimacy.

"Satisfied?" Nahir drawled, appearing bored despite how out of breath he was. His lips were just slightly swollen from the attention, and he was absolutely irresistible.

"Never," Liam managed between breaths.

In the space of a few moments they were in Liam's 'room', and the door was closed and magically locked behind them - courtesy of Nahir, as it happened. But Liam didn't notice much besides the blonde blood-elf who was now on his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, and he wasted no time in continuing where they had left off. His mentor, it seemed, was looking at this as a chance to finish their 'deal' in a different location.

Liam would let him think that... for a little while.

* * *

**What could possibly happen next! In fact, _I_ don't even know. So if you have any information on the matter, please inform me immediately!**


	7. Chapter 7

My, it's been a while! But never fear, dear readers, for I do intend to finish (is that possible?) this rather lengthy series. I'm afraid this is a short chapter, due to Cataclysm consuming (haha) my life even with so much free time. I'll redouble my writing efforts tomorrow, since I'm close to 85 already.

**11Dancer14: **Hehe... I'm kinda surprised that Alyane and Silya got some recognition. When I started to think about deepening their relationship I kinda assumed no one would go for it. How wrong I was!

**PencilsLovePaper: **Does this mean I can purchase a keyboard enchant from you?

All of your ideas sound plausible, so I'll haveta see if I can use some of them! I certainly need more characters... I think. I especially think your point about someone going after Lance will be used soon, as _someone _must have noticed that he's gone all the time.

**Copycat1773: **Lance's guildies? Hmm... that is indeed a good way to introduce more Alliance characters. Yes, the previews are a real gamble - usually I write them half-asleep and with very low intent of actually using them. As for Felfe's mother, we will definitely meet her sometime soon, when the time is right.

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**Chapter Seven**

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Lance was rather fortunate, and surprised, when he arrived at the Undercity gates to see Yuren standing there, arms crossed formidably. With a grin, he strode over to his undead friend and clapped him heartily on the back, something Yuren clearly didn't appreciate as he walked in ahead of him, scowling. Then again, there was little he could do that didn't make Yuren scowl or roll his eyes nowadays.

"Wait a moment," Lance said as they were crossing the bridge over the slime-filled, rather toxic-looking river in the courtyard. He watched Yuren hesitate, sigh, and then turn back to face him.

"What?" The warrior eyed him like he was about to announce his position in the upcoming elections of Mayor of Undercity, which of course he wasn't. Mostly because such a thing didn't exist.

"You never said anything earlier," the paladin pointed out, and by Yuren's sudden defensive stance he could tell that the warrior knew exactly what the topic at hand was.

Yuren was indeed defensive as he folded his arms again and countered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do!" Lance insisted.

"Don't get all prissy on me!"

"Prissy? You're the prissy one, trying to pretend you don't remember!" The paladin accused.

Undead eyes narrowed. "How. Dare. You. Call. Me. _Prissy!_"

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," Lance hmph'd.

"I don't know how you can stand being so pompous, you _stupid paladin! _Why don't you go pay _Herod _a visit, I'm sure you too would get along very well!"

Lance paled, recalling a dream where he and Herod had indeed been very... close. "You... are you just trying to distract me from saying it again? Because I will if I have to. I will say it so many times, you'll hear it echo even when I'm not saying it!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Yuren snapped, shifting his stance and taking on one more conducive to fury.

"So you _do _know what I'm talking about!" Lance proclaimed with satisfaction, and he approached Yuren's increasingly dangerous form slowly, not even sure what he was doing.

"All right, fine, maybe I know," the warrior muttered, but his eyes were becoming fiery globes of rage as he watched Lance get closer. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to talk about it."

Lance halted despite the lack of a stated threat and looked deep into the undead's blazing, hollowed eyes and said quietly, "Why not?"

All that left Yuren's lips was an irritated, frustrated noise that could not be accurately put into words.

"I'm just going to say it again," Lance threatened, "I don't mind if I have to say it a thousand times to get you to believe it."

Yuren scowled, eyeing the paladin apprehensively. "Stop being so -"

"I love you, Yuren."

The undead warrior froze, and not in an ice-block. Lance hadn't said it quite so clearly before. There was a chasm-sized difference between 'I think I'm in love with you' and 'I love you'. The cataclysmic impact left Yuren in a state of utmost destroyed dignity, and he could have sworn his face was on fire.

"You... are you serious?" And it was a mark of how affected Yuren was that he had allowed such a melodramatic line to escape him.

Lance breached the rest of the distance between them and took Yuren by the shoulders, connecting their gazes so that the other would see the significance in his eyes. "I love you."

A passing Tauren rolled his eyes and plodded on towards the zeppelin.

"Stop saying that," Yuren managed to grumble, but he couldn't put up much of a fight since Lance had him by the shoulders and it was all very awkward.

"I love you. I love you, Yuren." Lance said, overcoming the undead's resistance with sheer persistance.

"What is it with paladins and that damned persevering..."

"I love you! I loooove you, I love you - "

"Lance!" Yuren hissed suddenly, and forcibly removed his friend's hands from his shoulder. "Company."

Lance, confused, just stood there until Yuren gestured for him to turn around. "Wha - oh."

A very irritated little gnome warlock stood there, her green pigtails trembling visibly.

Lance brightened. "Oh, Lori - "

"We haven't raided in _three weeks! _What's so important that's got you all entangled in Undercity? You planning on marrying a corpse or what?" Her squeaky voice was shrill and grating, even as her shoulders sagged from loss of enthusiasm with her anger. "You know how many leads I've had to follow, people I've had to give sexual favors to, bribes I've had to pay to find out that you're here?"

Yuren had been tapping his foot for quite some time at this point, and, arms folded, he stood there defensively. Clearly waiting to be informed.

Lance did not observe this, and instead scratched his chin with the look of a man with many troubles. "Hm. I have indeed neglected my duties of late."

"Care to fill me in?" Yuren muttered abrasively, and the gnome girl's eyes narrowed at him.

"You got a bone to pick with me?" she growled. "I bet you're the one who's been keeping him here."

"Someone's got a _short_ temper," the undead snapped, and turned to Lance before she could retaliate. "What's going on, _Lance_."

"Ah, this is my second-in-command," the paladin explained, with a drama-diffusing smile that didn't quite serve its purpose. "She's no doubt here to remind me of my duties as guildmaster." He glanced at her and gave a hasty bow. "And for good reason, I might add!"

"Okay, okay, let's go!" the gnome - Lori - said quickly, tugging at Lance's wrist, which was the only part of him she could easily reach.

"Wait - " Lance paused, looked back at Yuren's disapproving face, and looked back at Lori. "Give me five minutes."

The gnome didn't move.

"I'll meet you at the gates," Lance hinted, with a significant expression.

"Fine, fine." And she flounced off and out of sight towards the gates of Undercity, disappearing into the stone corridor.

Lance awkwardly turned back to Yuren with an expression like a kicked corehound puppy. "Ah... right. Well, I'll see you in a couple weeks."

A dastardly silence descended, leaving Lance to hesitantly clap Yuren on the shoulder in a masculine way before edging back. He gave a polite cough. Yuren blinked and snapped out of whatever haze he had been trapped in.

"A couple weeks?" the warrior said, almost tentative. Undead eyes shone with a confused light rarely seen from the second-in-command to Lord Kain.

"Yep," Lance said hurriedly, and sketched a hasty bow. "And don't forget what I said!"

He rushed off without giving the other time to do more than wave numbly. Yuren stood there silently for a few minutes after the paladin left, trying to process what had just occurred. The man confessed his undying love and then... disappeared? For 'a couple weeks'...?

Yuren shook his head and made his way to the elevators. He was too confused to do anything more than trod back to his small room and sleep.

* * *

The next day, Liam woke with a feeling of utmost satisfaction. This was only slightly impeded by the knowledge that Nahir was not present in his bed. He gave a shrug and sat up, stretched, yawned. Any minute now, the immaculate form of his mentor would open the door and demand that he rise for breakfast. Hey, he'd be the first to say that this was something he could get used to. The confined living conditions weren't so bad, really, and the food was surprisingly decent most of the time.

The knock at his door caused him to jump up from the bed and run his hands through his hair spastically for a moment before they leapt back to his sides where they belonged. He fidgeted, folded his arms, donned a cool expression, and let out a hesitant, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal an immaculate Nahir, whose iciness matched his usual disposition. But something was off. Liam could tell right away by the hints of shadowy circles under his mentor's eyes that the man had not enjoyed as much sleep as he had. Which made sense, considering he probably had to get up much earlier to go about his job.

"Breakfast," Nahir said coldly, and Liam blinked.

He figured he'd better play along today, because the priest seemed awfully wound up already, and he hadn't even said anything yet. So he only nodded and followed Nahir dutifully to the dining hall.

* * *

All was abuzz at the mansion. Silya had announced that she would be throwing another of her extravagant parties, and it was up to the recently de-Lance'd Yuren and the reluctant Guanji to provide the food. This, despite the fact that the party was a few days away, caused havoc with the already plagued undead, who was now suffering from the DoT commonly known as 'love'. And everyone seemed to know, which made things beyond unbearable.

"Where dese tundra berries go?" Guanji offered Yuren the small crate sheepishly. "I forgot what dey be for."

Yuren snatched the crate from the troll and set it on the counter next to the preparations for the Kungaloosh. "I told you, just take all the reagents up here and set them on the floor. _I _will place them where they need to go. Now, hurry!"

"Right, right." Guanji turned and hastened to the door of the kitchen. "We sure could use dat Lance right 'bout now, mon..."

There was a 'snap' as Yuren accidentally broke a Crystalsong carrot in half. The mage left in a hurry after that, spewing comforting words that didn't make much sense in frenzied troll-speak.

"Leaves just in time to avoid cooking," Yuren said under his breath, face heating. "What good is he, anyway? Damned useless paladin."

* * *

"So I don't really know what to do," Wrenn lamented, and stuffed a piece of freshly toasted bread into his mouth. Liam thought this was appropriate seeing how much talking the paladin had done just to get to that admission.

"If your mentor notices you're not crazy like the rest of us," Liam began, and couldn't stifle his grin, "Wouldn't he have to say something to the higher-ups?"

"That's what I thought," Wrenn sighed. "But he doesn't seem to care. He keeps analyzing me over and over, like he's trying to find something wrong with me."

"Sounds familiar," Liam muttered to his own toast.

"But you do have problems," Temarr pointed out, voice as mellowed as always. "And speaking of problems, I see that you and your mentor are quite different today."

"Different? How?" the hunter asked innocently, before stuffing a mouthful of raptor omelet into the warlock's mouth to prohibit further speech. Temarr took this intrusion quite well, considering, and consumed the unwanted extra food speedily.

"I see," Temarr said, and said no more.

"See what?" Wrenn asked, looking around excitedly. "What do you see?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in," the warlock said quietly, and hid his smile in his glass of milk.

* * *

In the sitting room of Lord Kain's mansion, four and a half elves were sipping tea. Felfe seated next to Kain on the larger sofa, and Alyane and Silya in separate armchairs. The messenger guy, who was not sipping tea and so only counted for half, was in the middle of relating a very unimportant message. At least, in most of their cases.

But not so for Silya, who practically burst into flames as her fist pounded down on the arm of her armchair. "That's not good enough! Why can't we have live mana wyrms floating around, huh? They're all over Eversong Woods!"

"Milady, the DEHTA said it simply couldn't be allowed," the messenger elf said, pleading tone signaling that he did not want to be caught in the red tape of this whole procedure.

"Hmph," Silya folded her arms and then fixed the elf with a frigid glare. "Well then, run along to the Magical Menagerie and get me some magical brooms."

"With all due respect, Milady," he gulped. "The Enchanted Broom is only available at the Argent Tournament. It is unlikely that we could acquire large numbers of -"

"Wait," Kain cut in, rummaging in the pouches at his side. "Here, take these and get as many brooms as you can." He held out a smaller pouch with the emblem of the Argent Dawn.

The messenger took the pouch and opened it cautiously. His eyes bulged, and he hastily shut the bag, and his eyes, for a moment.

"It will be enough," Kain remarked airily.

"I should think so," the messenger said, and he seemed a little unsteady on his feet. "Well, I'll be off!" And he sprinted out of the doorway despite appearing so unstable.

"What did you give him?" Felfe inquired curiously, glowing night-elf eyes looking up to meet his. "Gold?"

"No, Champion's Seals." Kain smirked. "A good amount, too. He should be able to get at least ten brooms."

"Brother, that was a little..." Silya began to scold, and then her face went blank. "Wait, you mean... four-hundred Champion's Seals? How in the world did you save all those up?"

Kain gave a subtle shake of the head, and Silya laughed nervously.

When Felfe looked to Silya with confusion, the mage only smiled and said something about connections, and 'way before your time'. He had no idea what this meant, but he was happy Silya would have her Enchanted Brooms.

Alyane, who had been silent the whole time, gave a quiet, musical laugh with her perfectly-manicured hand covering her mouth politely.

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**Yes yes, very short. I'm working on more, I just wanted to give you all a refresher!**


	8. Chapter 8

Whew! Cataclysm is something, that's for sure. There's so much to do, I hardly had time to calm down and write.

**Note: **There WILL be Cata references in this story. However, _and this is very important for logical reasons_, Southshore will remain as it was before the Shattering. At least for a few more chapters. Felfe can't go through this kind of emotional trauma at this point in the story, 'kay?

**Reviewers: **

Copycat 1773 - I'm 85 now, so I finally have more time to write. When I'm not running heroics, or having this thing people call a 'life'. Hehe. But I never thought of Felfe as having more family than just his mother... interesting. The gears are finally turning.

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**Chapter Eight**

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The kitchen looked like it had been swarmed by Onyxian whelps and then detonated with goblin explosives. One very undead warrior stood in the middle of the destruction, shaking with what was hopefully rage. All around him were the splattered remains of high-level cooking mats. The kitchen might have served as Deathwing's example of the Shattering, had he thought to make threats of a metaphoric nature prior to his release.

"I have a... a quest for you, Guanji." Yuren sank to the floor and took several deep breaths. "I want you to go... acquire... several chocolate cakes, cheeses, fruits... and whatever Vinemaster Suntouched has available. Tell him I know he has kegs of Doublerum stashed away - get all of them." It was clear to anyone who knew the chef that the idea of buying vendor-made food was a killing blow to his pride. And the alcohol reference would have made lesser trolls begin to fear for the apocalypse.

Guanji only gulped, edged away, and made light of the situation. "What I be gettin' for dis quest?"

"Pissed-off, worthless-at-cooking undead warrior faction rep," Yuren said bitterly, wiping some gooey mixture off his cheek. Guanji hesitated, but at the glimpse of tears hastily turned and exited the kitchen. Nothing was more awkward than seeing an undead man cry.

Yuren sank in on himself further when the door had closed, leaning back against the no-doubt slimy counter with a feeling of uselessness. He was a tank - a main tank for the most powerful Horde guild - and he wasn't used to this emptiness, nor this level of failure. He supposed he should not have set the oven to cataclysmic. That may have been a little much, really. It wasn't time to open a restaurant, after all.

But for all that was unholy, he couldn't figure out what was going on! He was anxious, flighty as a bugged escort quest. The smallest things would startle him, and his palms would sweat and his pulse - illogically - quickened. Something was very, very wrong with him. As he sat there, body limp and heart beating nervously in his chest, he thought he had better see a healer.

Approximately three minutes later, Lessina the back-up healer was at his side in the gruesome kitchen wreckage. Apparently no one else could be spared, seeing as Silya's party was tonight. They were all off taking care of some item of her ladyship's business, that or getting themselves ready for the party. In any case, his complaint wasn't that Lessina wasn't... a decent healer.

"Holy Chaos Bolts!" the goblin priest yelped as she stepped in what could have been any number of butchered fish recipes. "What you been doin' in here, mister?"

Ugh. Mister? How old was she?

"Cooking," Yuren snapped, immediately feeling that anxiousness tightening in his chest. "And I need a healing."

She scrutinized him from a distance of a few feet, looking wary. "Ya don't look that bad, mister."

"Hurry it up," he sighed.

Lessina carefully picked her way around the remnants of multiple recipes before kneeling beside him and placing a manicured goblin hand on his shoulder. He held back a shudder of revulsion at the putrid shade of her nail polish and tried to look away. He caught her gaze and was unfortunate to behold, at close range, her hideous caked-on makeup. Eyelashes the size of mutant cave creeper spiders made him suddenly wonder why he had thought he needed healing this badly.

"Hmm. Somethin's odd, pal." Her bright red lips twisted into a pout, then a thoughtful frown. "You got some kinda DoT on you... I can't seem to - lemme fetch Shavona."

Shavona was a tauren druid with eyelashes twice the size of Lessina's. Yuren hastily tried to extricate himself from the goblin's grip.

"No, that's all right." he muttered, a little frenzied. "I'm sure it isn't anything important."

"You don't look so good, mister." Lessina eyed him with no small amount of concern. "You sure you gonna be okay?"

"As sure as the World Pillar is whole." Yuren said, and then he paused. "Fuck."

* * *

"Well, let's gather our strength." Lance stood in front of his guild for the first time in something like a month. "There are dragons to kill!"

An overwhelming cheer came from the crowd in the center of Stormwind, and he couldn't help the rather dashing smile and general pride that affected him. Having so many Alliance members depending on his guidance, his speech-making skills, and his abilities as raid leader... it was nice to be appreciated for a change. A certain undead warrior was probably realizing how unappreciative _he _had been right about now. This, Lance was sure, was a good thing.

And yet he felt a twinge of guilt, a lancing jolt of remorse. Yuren was his friend. More than that, even. He owed him for that friendship, and he knew that the undead guy couldn't help his caustic nature. He was probably hiding deep-rooted issues in both self-worth and the meaning of life. Most tanks did. It wasn't Yuren's fault that he was unable to show his appreciation.

"We gonna show them why you're guild leader?" Lori nudged him in the side. Well, except that she was a gnome, so it was more like his knee.

"We're going to show them why we're the best guild in the Alliance," Lance corrected, and he noted the amused grin on her face. She caught onto his political savvy and was giggling the next moment.

"Oh, Lancelot, our benevolent leader!" She mimicked, feigning awe.

He laughed, but he was already back to thinking about Yuren and wondering if the warrior was... missing him. Was it possible?

* * *

Silya and Alyane left the sitting room, Silya's hand gestures becoming increasingly spastic. After a few moments, the warlock drew her aside in the hallway, taking her hands gently. They shared a wordless moment in which Silya was remarkably calmed, and then Alyane spoke.

"It is a party, Silya." The temptress spared one of her increasingly common smiles - at least for her beloved - and gave the other's hands a squeeze. "All the preparations have been made, and if they should fail... there are always solutions. This is not a random heroic."

"You're right," Silya sighed, and let herself sink into Alyane in an impromptu embrace. She mumbled into her shoulder, "I guess I'm just worried something catastrophic will happen."

They both turned at the sound of hurried footsteps. A messenger - an orc with a braided beard, this time - stopped in front of them with a slight skidding noise. He did not appear to be winded in the least, and saluted professionally before speaking.

"Lady Silya, I have been sent to inform you of a recent catastrophe in the kitchens." His deep voice was sure and serious, making this news have more of an effect on the already concerned blood-elf to whom he was speaking.

"W-what?" She looked back and forth from the messenger orc to Alyane, as if there was any connection between them. "What do you mean? Yuren is -"

When she cut herself off, contemplative, the orc offered an explanation. "The tank - ah, Yuren - has been deemed unable to provide food for the party. I have been sent by Lessina to ask for possibilities for replacement chefs."

"Lessina? But... did something happen to Yuren?" Silya frowned, thinking that the undead _had _seemed quite prickly at her announcement of the party, but not any more than usual.

"He has suffered a brief collapse. Lessina examined him and found a strange DoT she could not purify. She sent for Shavona, but the druid could also not eradicate whatever was plaguing him. He appears to be healthy, if emotionally caustic." The orc bowed to her and gave a hurried, "You may find him in the healers' wing of the mansion. I must go now with other messages, unless you wish to add one."

"That's all right," Silya said faintly. The messenger sped off and thankfully did not see her ladyship sag into her 'friend' in a very undignified manner. It took a few moments, but she managed to pull herself together and straighten up with a panicked look in her bright green eyes.

"We shall attend to him," Alyane suggested, in a tone that made it more of a decision. She offered Silya her hand, but the mage bit her lip and looked away.

"I haven't told anyone about... er, us." Silya looked pained to admit this. "I think everyone important has suspected already, but -"

"That is quite all right," the warlock told her, walking close by her instead. "It will remain our little secret for the time being." Another 'rare' smile, mysterious and alluring as an Uldum sunset.

* * *

Liam sat glumly in a sea of tasseled cushions as Nahir once again quizzed him on various aspects of his personality, his actions, his choices, blah blah blah. It reminded him of what Wrenn had said in the dining hall, about his mentor searching him for faults he didn't have. Of course, in Wrenn's case, there really weren't any hidden faults. At least, not ones that would be cause for insanity or psychosis, as was the case with the rest of the inmates. Including, he admitted grudgingly, himself.

He barely caught the end of Nahir's latest speech on 'knowing himself'. "... and so I should hope that you will use this opportunity, within our institution's safe and forgiving borders, to consider exploring your consciousness and finding your 'triggers' - the roots of your psychological issues, the memories and references that cause your moments of insanity."

Liam found himself nodded uninterestedly, and by his mentor's chilling gaze, he had also noticed.

Nahir gave a sigh and then proceeded with a phrase that had likely been drilled into him, as he said it with a practiced disinterest that matched Liam's. "You do not seem yourself today. Is something bothering you?"

That was friggin' hilarious. Here he was, trapped in a magical institution for the insane, having spent last night making hot, passionate love to his mentor - both now pretending nothing had happened - and with no social contact besides an emo warlock and a sane paladin who shouldn't have been there in the first place and Nahir was asking him if _something _was bothering him? Classic.

He stalled with a 'uh...' and then seized on an impulsive idea. "Well, you know my friend Wrenn, yeah?"

Small nod from Nahir.

"He's not really supposed to be here," Liam said carefully, conspiratorially. "It's been 'bothering' me since I talked to him last time." He gave a scowl, revealing a very real frustration that really only had a little to do with his words. He was annoyed for Wrenn's sake, sure, but that certainly wasn't what had been DoTing him today.

Nahir's neutrality darkened, his eyes sharpening. "What is the meaning of this?"

Liam correctly interpreted this as a go-ahead for his explanation. He told his mentor what Wrenn had told him - of joining the Blood Knights, his battle with the paladin lady who turned into a demonic force when they dueled, of how Bachi didn't believe his story of said duel and shipped him off, gladly, to the institution - albeit with much less tangential information.

Wrapping it all up, he finished with a telling, "I just wish there was something I could do. You know, to help him get back to the Blood Knights. It's the guy's _dream_, and he's been screwed over by this Bachi guy."

There was a moment of tense silence, with Nahir staring at his notes curiously, before the priest turned his eyes back to Liam. "Extraordinary."

"I know, right?" the hunter scowled again for good measure. "It's sick to just -"

"No," Nahir interrupted him smoothly. "I meant your concern. It is refreshing to see you worried for the sake of another, and it is a very good sign."

Liam wanted to joke about this, like he always did when he wasn't sure what to say, but he let it slide. "He's a good guy. He deserved to be out there living his life."

"You may be right." Nahir scribbled a few things on his scroll, hesitated, and then glanced up once again. "I... have a proposal for you."

"A what?" Liam was instantly on edge. Never trust a magicman with a proposal - one of the first things life had taught him when a mage in an alleyway got him addicted to arcane dust. After the sickening withdrawal that he forced himself to undergo, he had hunted that guy down. Bad thoughts, bad! He wasn't that kind of person anymore. Was he?

He belatedly realized that Nahir had been speaking. He had gotten too used to tuning him out that it was difficult to listen to him now.

"... Therefore, if you will agree to attend these 'group sessions', I will speak to the higher-ups about Wrenn's situation." Nahir was focused, cold, and curiously... excited? Liam was sure only he could notice it, so subtle were the signs. An odd light in those eyes, the twitch on his quill hand, the set of his shoulders...

"The group sessions... can I go with Temarr?" Liam ventured, probing this little arrangement to see how much advantage he could get. By mentioning only Temarr, he implied that Wrenn would be long gone by the time he started the sessions.

It worked, and Nahir only arched an elegant eyebrow before nodding in satisfaction. "That can be arranged."

* * *

"Yuren!" Silya gasped as she saw the undead warrior lying in a bed in one of the healing rooms, uncharacteristically melancholy. "We heard what happened and we came as soon as we..."

She trailed off as he turned his head to look at them, no hint of surprise or interest evident. This would have been normal except for all lack of his usual acid, which was troubling to those who knew him well. This main tank was rarely seen without his cauterizing gaze, an intensely irritated light in his yellow eyes. But now there was none of that. It was as if he had completely respecced his personality.

She wasn't liking this change, and not just because it meant they couldn't get insta tank-queues anymore. Silya glanced back at Alyane, sharing her concern without words. They did a lot of that lately.

Alyane stepped forward bravely, examining the warrior's downtrodden state with a cool facade of serenity. "How are you feeling, Yuren?"

He only shook his head and muttered something unintelligible, not even bothering to scowl like he always did when he had to answer one of _her _questions. It was a well-known fact that he disliked her, though no one had any solid evidence as to the reason.

"Yuren?" Silya prompted quietly, walking over to the bed. She placed a soft hand on his rotting one, grasping it gently and hoping she might calm him as Alyane had calmed her earlier.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, averting his eyes and staring over at a solid expanse of wall. "I know you needed me for the party." No hint of sarcasm, though he could have easily used it there.

"That's not why I'm here!" Silya exclaimed, ashamed, and couldn't hide her shock. "What's happened to you? You're like... different."

Alyane added, for the benefit of higher-level vocabulary, "Something must have occurred, for your personality to change so drastically." But he ignored her completely; at least one thing hadn't changed.

Yuren's eyes returned to Silya, and he spoke hesitantly. "L-ance." He nearly choked on the word. A word he usually avoided saying because that would mean he had a friend, someone he actually called by name and not rank, or 'hey, you' or anything like that. It sounded strange to say the name aloud.

"Yeah, where is he, anyway?" Silya frowned, and abruptly her mouth twisted up in frustration. "He of all people should be here, the dummy!"

"He's gone," Yuren said numbly, and he wondered at how easily it had slipped from him. He gathered his covers up to his chest and smoothed them out, distracted by ensuing thoughts.

"Where and why?" Alyane interceded, now at Silya's side, and deeply disturbed. "The paladin, surely he did not... leave you?"

"No."

He saw how their worries lessened, just a little, when he said that.

"No, he was called back to raid with his guild." Yuren took a sip of oasis water from the stand beside his bed, feigning disinterest in the subject matter. "For two weeks, they said."

"His absence has done something to you," Alyane murmured, stunned at what a transformation the paladin had wrought with his leavetaking.

"I don't care about him," Yuren said quickly, only a faint echo of his characteristic hiss.

Silya saw through this, but she also saw something else. After watching so many blood-elven soap operas on the MORMRIS, back when Alyane's doings had plunged her into depression, she knew these telltale signs. Lance leaving, on such a necessary and unremarkable reason, would not have been enough to affect Yuren. At least, not to this extreme. Something was missing. Yuren had... a secret!

"What did he say right before he left?" Silya interrogated, playing out this scene as if from memory, which was exactly what she was going off of.

The undead warrior seemed startled. "I... he... he said that he... he had to go raid."

"No, before that. Before he got the news that he had to leave." Silya closed in for the kill, donning her serious face. This was serious soap opera business, and she _was_ prepared.

"Before... before that?" Yuren stumbled over his words, and his skeletal hands clutched the sheets tightly, giving away his panic. "I don't know, nothing important." Too fast, too simple.

"It was important," Silya corrected him, folding her arms to look intimidating. "It must have been. And you know what it was." She ignored the feeling of Alyane staring at her - the stare felt surprised but not alarmed, for which she was grateful. This was something she had to do, for Yuren's sake.

Silence. Yuren fidgeted and looked away.

"You can tell me, Yuren." She unfolded her arms and shifted to a different approach: the sympathetic, emotion-oozing side character of the soap. "You have to tell someone - just look at you."

Yuren sat there silently for another minute, eyes solemnly on the bed.

She was getting impatient. "Yuren - "

"He said he loved me."

Jaws dropped, namely Silya's and Alyane's. The two blood-elves exchanged significant looks once again, this time full of blank, startled surprise.

Yuren ran a hand through his very greasy hair. "I didn't take him seriously, but he kept saying it. And then he had to leave."

"You didn't... say anything to him about it?" Silya pressed, now waaay more than curious.

"Not besides telling him to stop," Yuren mumbled. And then he sighed. "Was I supposed to?"

"Of course!" Silya burst, very happy to argue this point. "Yuren, you and Lance have been inseparable for... for ever since he got here! You're always happier when he's around, and... well, you had to have at least _noticed._"

"Noticed?" he echoed, and got a very uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Kain walked in and closed the door quietly, earning him a few confused looks (blood-elves, as a rule of thumb, are to enter doors with a bang at every opportunity). "How you _feel _about him, Yuren. Did you forget our talk?"

Having a hitherto not-present individual continue the conversation confused everyone, but after a few moments, Yuren got it together. "You tricked me that time! You know I phrased it the wrong way."

"We all know you're more-or-less attached to the paladin," Kain said brusquely, not feeling the need to name his (former) rival. "You need to admit it, certainly after what his absence has done to you." Kain took a pause and considered Yuren's bedridden, almost ill form. "Which I'd say is not inconsequential."

Yuren sat in silence, but this time it was a considerate one. Alyane, Silya, and Kain, shared looks of expectation that were foiled when the undead spoke again.

"Well, what do you expect me to do - confess to him like a lovesick little girl?"

"Seems to have worked for him." Kain smirked.

* * *

After he left Yuren in the hands of the two blood-elven women - a treacherous act, he supposed - Kain made his way towards his chambers to get ready. For tonight was the Dalaran Double-Date. Which should have been an achievement, he thought wryly. Later he would shake his head and wonder how he could have been so right about the arduous nature of... but for now he had no idea.

He met Guanji later that evening, just around suppertime, and they waited for Felfe to turn up. He had intended to meet up with Felfe first, but when he knocked on the elf's permanent guest room's door, he only got a muffled exclamation that went something like, 'I'll cash up inna few mints!'. So he had proceeded, solo, to the dining room to meet the troll who was at the root of this double-date.

Guanji was looking exceptionally put-together, with an entire tuxedo set and his mohawk tamed down for the night. It now resembled a bright-red lion's mane, and Kain thought it lucky that his friend had no beard to make things worse. He himself was flawless as always - a joke, as all blood-elves tended to be - and in a similar ensemble. His was slightly more casual, however, and he wore his jacket open and without a tie, leaving his shirt unbuttoned a couple notches. He hadn't wanted to outdo Guanji for formality, and had guessed that the less-experienced man would be taking date-dress too seriously. As could be expected.

A few minutes later, the late night-elf burst into the room, the door banging behind him. Kain smirked at the thought that his (his!) night-elf was adopting blood-elven traditions, but he hastily switched his smugness for a smile. Felfe tended to have that effect on him - one of the many problems that had forestalled the, ah, deflowering.

"Sorry I'm late!" Felfe said, a little out of breath, and smiled one of his innocent smiles. He was dressed in half of the Embroidered set, a formal white shirt and rich purple vest, worked in gold, foremost. Added to the slightly less bold purple breeches and boots, also embroidered in gold, and the belt wrought with gold swirls... it was very purple. But on Felfe it managed to be something else... cute.

"Joo look -" Guanji glanced at Kain to make sure he wasn't going to get killed for this. "Adorable." And he beamed.

Kain said much the same, but Felfe, flustered, turned the attention back to Guanji. "Are we going to meet Jolinda in Dalaran?"

Guanji greened slightly, but nodded with much fervor. "J-ja, mon. Dat be it."

"You don't have to worry!" Felfe gave him his best smile. "I'm sure she'll really like you."

"Tanks, mon." Guanji seemed comforted, if marginally.

It had been an hour since the three had arrived at the park in Dalaran. After ten minutes, Guanji had begun to fidget. When twenty minutes had passed, Felfe had assured Guanji that Jolinda probably had a very good reason for being late. When it hit the thirty-minute mark, Kain had started to frown. They had all sat down on a nearby bench at forty minutes past the meeting time. And now it had been an hour. An hour of waiting and wasting and wondering.

"Do you think something might have happened?" Felfe was the first to raise the question, tentatively.

Guanji only shook his head, somber. "I dunno, mon. Da park, eight o' clock. Dat be what she said." And he hung his head for a moment.

Kain was now clearly bothered, and it was curious to Felfe that the other elf held so much protective instinct towards the troll as he muttered, "It had better be important."

"I'm sure it is," Felfe nodded confidently, as if that sealed the matter. "We should go have fun together, just the three of us. I bet she'll tell you later that she was caught up in a heroic or something - those things can drag on." Not that the night-elf would know, never having been involved in such things.

Guanji, however, had heard of these heroics, and nodded knowingly. Kain added his own satisfied nod, and together they rose for the bench with hopes of something fun to do.

The next half hour was a whirlwind of excitement. They visited the Menagerie, the toy shop, the pastry cart, the wine and cheese store, and even the Dalaran sewers. But by the time they ended up at the wishing fountain, Guanji's faked cheerfulness had slipped enough that even Felfe noticed. What had started out as a wide grin on the troll's face had slowly but surely become a troubled frown, something the night-elf had rarely seen on his friend.

"Guanji," Felfe whispered as they stood by the beautiful fountain, staring at the gold, silver, and copper coins that contained so many wishes. "I'd wish for her to show up, but maybe... maybe it's supposed to be like this." Guanji glanced down at him sharply. "Maybe this means she wasn't good enough for you, and you've gotta be there for the one who is."

"Destiny," Kain said melodramatically, and gave a nod. He appeared completely serious.

"So let's throw some coins," Felfe said quietly, and chanced at look at his troll friend. "And let's wish just for happiness, however it happens."

They tossed coins into the bubbling fountain. Kain's gold, Felfe's copper, and Guanji's silver. The three coins sunk together, slowly reaching the bottom of the fountain. Felfe closed his eyes and wished, feeling oddly content to be doing something like this with... his friends. Friends he never thought he would have.

When he opened his eyes, he happened to see Guanji's eyes open just after his. The troll sniffed. And the tears started.

Felfe smiled, took the troll's large hand, and said, "Joo gotta friend, mon."

Guanji burst into tears, wracked with emotion and quite a bit of relief. Kain hesitated and then took the troll's other hand, hidden smile just now bearing itself to the world. Thankfully there wasn't anyone around, as Dalaran had become something of a ghost-town since the portals had been removed. It was such a personal moment, and it felt right to have no witnesses. Except, perhaps, Marcia Chase, the grandmaster fisherman.

When Guanji stopped crying, the first thing he said was, "We gotta go to da Legerdemain. I be needin' someting strong."

Kain looked unsure whether to laugh or nod seriously, so he tried to do both. Felfe giggled at the result, and the three walked over to the Lounge for some good old-fashioned drinking.

* * *

**Join us next chapter for booze, laughs, and someone leaving a cake out in the rain. Maybe not that last one - we'll see.**


	9. Chapter 9

Yay! Writing WoW stuff makes me ridiculously happy. Makes me wonder why I don't do it that often. This is a short chapter, but I'll be writing another tomorrow. Better lots of short chapters than very few long ones. Er... not sure that made sense. You know what I mean!

**Reviewers:**

Colore et confits - Well, thanks! Glad you enjoyed it. And gratz on your own 85 - it wasn't easy. Well, maybe it was, but it wasn't all that fast. Hehe.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

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"We be in da Shadowfang Keep, joo know. And den he be sayin', what you be doin' over dere on da ramparts!" Guanji's chuckles got a little out of control as the three of them sat together at a small table in the Legerdemain Lounge. Caraway Burnwine tended to do that to people.

Luckily, Kain had chosen to drink a light mead, and Felfe was calmly sipping moonberry juice. But this didn't seem to faze the buzzed troll, who gestured wildly as he continued with his story, previously slicked-back mohawk beginning to unfurl as the night wore on, like the broad sails of a ship approaching Booty Bay.

"So I said, what be I supposed to do, mon?" Guanji's grin stretched across his entire face - not a mean feat. "And... aha... he say, _YOU _sheep dat soldier, boy!"

Kain couldn't hold back a few laughs, but Felfe only smiled tentatively and looked a little confused. Oh well, couldn't be helped. As the troll began to tell another story, both elves sat back, enjoying their respective beverages and the carefree mood of their friend. At least he had gotten over Jolinda standing him up - or perhaps he had just forgotten all about it. Stiff drinks tended to do that, in Kain's experience.

"So den he went ta look for da ammo, and bam!" Humongous troll hands reached to the sky for emphasis. "All gone. Dey build da ammo into da guns, now. And he been lookin' all over for da ammo vendor! Joo believe that?"

* * *

Yuren could not stand staying in the healing room's bed for another minute, and he suspected that was exactly what the healers standing outside the door wanted. That, or they were just the mental equivalent of wharf rats. He didn't particularly care. But whichever it was, the fact remained that they were filling his rage bar as surely as if they were beating him.

Even as he debated the merits of leaving, he couldn't ignore their girlish, giggling voices.

"Oh my gawd," said the shorter, uglier priestess. "He is so. Cute." She gave a helpless sigh, which he interpreted as her realization she would never attract anything more tempting than a goblin blacksmith.

"I know, right?" the other priestess, a slightly more decent-looking orc female, mimicked the other's sigh. "If only we had some way to get close to him! Once he got to know us..."

Us? Yuren thought this was beginning to sound like an odd, and very innappropriate situation.

"Wait!" The less hideous one had apparently seized on an idea, and she took out an Alchemy magazine from somewhere on her person. "Just Imbiber! This magazine has all sorts of love potions - maybe one of them will work!"

"Oooh, let's try number eight!" Ms. Hideous-and-Slow-of-Wit said. "Isn't there that song that goes, um, 'Love Potion Number Ei-ei-ei-ei-eiiiight'...?"

That was enough for Yuren. When orc priestesses started singing, he was out. He scowled and got off the bed, getting to his feet with no small amount of annoyance. He made sure to stalk out of the room so that they would see exactly what they had caused. Fools, those little girls with their heads full of romantic notions. _He _would never stoop to that level. Imagine, using love potions to influence a -

...

...

Moonberry Jello came to mind.

He scowled and left the healing quarters without a glance back. Not that people usually glanced back as they walked, so that wasn't unusual. Unless he thought he was being followed, and that was both unlikely and unthreatening when he was in the middle of Kain's mansion. Another scowl, and he decided that he'd better get himself back to the kitchens. Not at all like a lovesick girl with her head full of romantic notions.

* * *

Maren idly twirled a lock of golden hair around a manicured finger. Ahn'kahet was pretty much her least favorite heroic, and she'd only just gotten to a point where people let her in on their heroics to begin with. Not the toughest ones, just the older ones that nobody wanted to do anymore. So really, she was kinda lucky to be in one at all.

But she didn't think that way. As the rest of the group ran up to engage Prince Taldaram in combat, she stood at the sidelines, casting some HoTs and a few flash heals. These guys weren't bad; they managed to get out of the way of the fiery spheres without difficulty. It would have been a cakewalk if not for the disturbing things the prince was telling them.

"I am Nowhere, I am Everywhere!" he cried, summoning more fiery balls. "I am the watcher, _unseen_."

Maren snickered, feeling like she had heard something like this before, despite never setting foot in this place. She started healing up one of the rogues, who had become a victim of the vampiric embrace. Hmm... vampiric? She was just beginning to catch onto the connection when Taldaram distracted them all again.

"Your heartbeat is music to my ears!"

Okay, that was creepy. He sounded like some kind of weird vampire stalker. And all that watching made her think of a peeping tom outside her apartment in Silvermoon. Guh-_ross_.

The tank, a male blood-elf death knight, ended the fight with a last barrage of sword swipes. The five of them sat down to rest, everyone avoiding looking at the body of the disturbing prince. For a few moments, no one said anything. Probably because they had food and drinks to deal with.

As they rose, however, Maren suddenly got it. "Oh, snap!"

"What's up?" The tank turned to look at her curiously. "You have the strat for the next boss?"

"No, that guy! The prince - he's a vampire, isn't he?" Maren brightened perceptibly, eyes alight.

The tauren shaman, her eyes unamused, gestured for the group to head through the tunnel. "What do you think this is, Twilight?"

They rounded the bend to see an army of - what else - Twilight Worshippers.

"Ah," said the shaman, and she had the sense to look embarrassed.

* * *

The next day, all was abuzz at Kain's mansion. It was the day of Silya's party, and as Felfe sat down to breakfast he noticed the excitement and the tension in the air. Silya and Alyane were seated beside each other on one side of the table, and as he helped himself to some monster omelet he heard Kain enter the room. There was something in the way the door banged open - not quite as loudly as with the other blood-elves - that Felfe could now chalk up to his (what was Kain to him?) l-lover's unique sound. He blushed after thinking that word, even just to himself, and was still feeling the burn on his face as Kain sat down next to him.

"Good morning," the voice said, closing in on him subtly. A light kiss was pressed to Felfe's cheek, and his blush intensified. Would he ever get used to this? Was it even possible?

"Morning," he managed, smile tugging at his lips despite his awkwardness.

"You've got mail, mon!"

Felfe looked up to see Guanji entering the room, flinging a letter onto the table before taking a seat across from Felfe, beside Silya. The troll seemed unshaken by the events of the night before, which was a relief to the night-elf, who had been worrying about him. But perhaps the troll had made peace with being stood up, and had realized that much worse things had happened, such as getting Deserter in a battleground. Or just being in a battleground - Felfe wasn't found of them, even though he'd only ever been to Warsong Gulch.

More on that later.

"Joo gonna open dat?" Guanji prodded the letter closer to Felfe, who considered it blankly.

"I... I suppose so." He wasn't sure who would be sending him mail, but maybe it was from Lance, or... or...

He let out a startled noise, and Kain was instantly on guard, rising from his chair to lean over Felfe and read the sender's name. By the blood-elf's intense eyes, he must have thought it was from Liam, a death threat of some kind. As if the elf could escape that kind of institution.

"Seriadne?" Kain voiced the name with a hint of confusion.

Felfe calmed himself, and then he gave a wobbly smile. "My mother."

"WHAT?"

The entire rest of the table stood up, resulting in three blood-elves, one troll, and a passing undead warrior to fix the night-elf with shocked stares. Yuren, who had just been on his way to the kitchens, had halted and then made his way over to the table after hearing such stunning news. It took a few moments for the chaos to resolve, as all of them tried to talk over each other and ask Felfe stupid questions. But eventually, all quieted.

Felfe opened the letter, trying to pretend - belatedly - that it wasn't a big deal. As he read it, silently, He turned an odd shade of pink and looked scandalized. After he finished, he sat back with a sigh. All eyes were on the letter, and Silya's hand twitched like she was going to snatch it up from across the table. Felfe wisely took the letter in his hand, immediately distrustful.

But when Yuren came around to Felfe's side, the night-elf only looked at him blankly as the letter was slipped from his hand. The undead warrior had that effect on people. I mean, what was _Yuren _going to do with a letter from Felfe's mother? Read it aloud?

"_My darling baby,_" Yuren began.

Felfe had to be forcibly restrained by Kain _and _Guanji at the realization that, yes, Yuren _was _going to read the embarrassing thing out loud. His protests were quickly muffled by a large and quite effective troll hand, and he could only redden further as the others listened to the atrocities being related.

"_Dolanaar is charming as always. You _must _come back and visit me soon - you know I miss my baby soooo much!_" Yuren gave an awkward cough, and Felfe thought he might not continue, but the undead recovered. "_Have you found yourself a cutie, yet? I know you say everyone thinks you're a girl, but doesn't that mean you have a lot in common with them? Girls like that! It would make mommy soooo excited if you met someone special._"

Kain chuckled, and Felfe bestowed upon him a rare death glare, which in his case was likely to make anyone burst into laughter.

"_How are your quests going? I bet you're already a big, strong warrior! You have to tell me ALL about your adventures when you come to visit, okay? _

_Mommy misses you!"_

And Yuren finished by clearing his throat and adding, "And there's a little heart drawn in at the end."

Melodious laughter sprang from none other than Alyane, who had to be hushed by Silya. Who was struggling to fight a grin that matched her brother's. Guanji, of course, was unable to hold back his face-splitting smile. Felfe only sagged back in the chair as they released him, completely defeated and emasculated. So it was really a pretty typical day. Yuren folded the letter neatly and returned it to its envelope, lips twitching upwards in the first smile he'd shown since Lance had left.

"You must be due for a visit," the undead said to the air, and he walked off hiding what might have been a smirk.

Seeing how cheered Yuren had been at the letter made Felfe feel a little less humiliated. After all, if his friends were all smiling, he might as well smile with them. He tried to cover up his embarrassment and mumbled a few choice words to himself. Crumpets! Biscuits! Parfaits! Those danishes, how dare they!

Kain must have heard some of this, as he blinked a few times and suddenly began to shake with controlled laughter.

"Are you going to visit your mother, then?" Alyane asked politely, and most of her amusement was hidden now. "She seems very caring."

"Y-yeah, I probably should." Felfe wavered, though. "It would take a while to get there, though. Dolanaar is a while from Darnassus, and the closest port is in Menethil Harbor." Excuses, yes, but ones he hopes the others wouldn't question.

But Guanji had other plans. "I send you dere wit a portal!"

"Horde can't - " And Felfe hesitated. Horde could heal Alliance. That much they'd uncovered from their experiences together. Surely, if something as odd as that was possible... Cake.


	10. Chapter 10

I'm moving right along, huh? I guess I'm finally feeling school approaching. Figures that I'd be lazy up until my last week of freedom, yeah. Now I sound like Liam...

**Reviewers:**

Copycat1773 - I'm glad! I thought of that joke during a heroic when some mages were told to sheep some soldiers (of course) and couldn't get it outta my head. I'll be updating nightly until the 2nd. After that it'll probably be less often, but I'm still going to try to finish FWBF before (hmm, arbitrary deadline, let's see...) March. Hehe.

11Dancer14 - Haha, everyone seems to prefer Lance and Yuren's storylines. I gotta say, though, I find myself favoring them too. So much opportunity for ridiculousness! There will much more of them soon.

Colore et confits - Ah, I'd forgotten all about the worgens! Which is weird, 'cause I already had that goblin a couple chapters ago. Haha, I'm glad you could sympathize with Felfe on the letter!

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

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Felfe was relieved that Silya's party preparations had succeeded in drawing attention away from... the letter. From the way everyone had sounded, they had been of a mind to make him a portal then and there. Guanji would have cooperated, and then what? He shuddered. Kain would have probably gone with him, and what was he supposed to do about that?

Mother had always been ecstatic at the thought of little elven grandchildren, and he couldn't imagine her grief if she knew he'd never father any. Sigh.

"Felfe?" Kain's voice was soft as he approached. "Are you all right?"

It was then that Felfe noticed everyone else filing out of the dining room, all abuzz with the party spirit. "O-oh, yeah. I was just thinking, um, of what I'm going to wear."

"If you don't want to visit her, you can send her a letter." Kain slid a comforting arm around the smaller elf's shoulders. "No one is going to make you do anything."

Although Felfe stiffened at Kain's grasp of the situation, he managed to relax and let out a troubled sigh. "That's not it. I do want to see her, I just don't know what I would say."

"She wants grandchildren," Kain concluded with a sigh to match his. The man's intuition was uncanny.

Felfe could only nod. "Yeah, well... I'll figure it out. Let's get ready for the party, okay?"

Kain gave him a satisfied smile. "Let's."

"Felfe," Alyane's musical voice called out, cutting through the mood like a chaos bolt.

Felfe turned to see the warlock standing royally in the doorway of the kitchen, seeming uncertain. "Alyane?"

She seemed to hesitate a moment, and then settled back into her usual dignity. "Yuren has requested that you join him... and me... in the kitchen. The preparations will have to be rushed, so he has said."

"I'm not a cook," Felfe protested feebly, but Kain kissed him on the cheek and gave him an encouraging push toward the door.

"Neither am I," Alyane didn't appear pleased with the circumstances, either. "But the two of us will have to learn, apparently."

"Best of luck," Kain said, and had the nerve to give him a high-level smirk before he departed.

Felfe managed not to let the dizziness affect him as he turned to follow the temptress into the kitchens. If he had been another man, that line might have insinuated erotic indiscretions. But not with Felfe. He was only disappointed that he wouldn't have as much time to pick out appropriate clothing for the party, that was all.

* * *

"So you talked to somebody about Wrenn?" Liam asked, striving for politeness since he was getting his way. If something went right for him, it would be miraculous. Like overwhelming the defending faction at Tol Barad - impossible, yeah.

Nahir, who seemed to be responding well to Liam's continued good manners, nodded amiably. "I did indeed. They are looking into the matter as we speak, and should be making inquiries at the paladin training camps today."

"Good," Liam let himself smile, though he didn't want to get too optimistic until he _saw_ Wrenn released. He would just have to bide his time for a while; once Wrenn was free, the hunter could go back to what he liked best. Which was, of course, hunting his prey.

He hadn't made a single insinuation or flirtatious gesture since they'd had wild monkey sex two nights ago. It was getting difficult to hold back, but he was putting aside his natural urges for Wrenn's sake. After all, he could chase Nahir later. It might even be better that way, like setting aside a mouthwatering dessert in order to make it even more tempting. He figured it worked much the same way.

"So where're we going, again?" He made sure to aks this cheerfully, sucking all the sarcasm out of the sentence. How badly he wanted to make fun of this dumb group therapy thing. But for now, he would play along. _'Savor it while it lasts, yeah.'_

"The group is held outside - " Nahir began, and cut himself off, which was odd. He gave Liam a hard stare for a moment, and the hunter, unsure how to react, looked at him blankly.

"What?" He said. "Something on my face?"

"If you even _think _of trying to escape, with all of the mentors there - "

"Psshaw!" Liam made an overly effeminate hand gesture. "Honestly, Nahir, I might be kinda insane but I'm not an idiot. Besides..."

He couldn't hold back. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Nahir eyed him warily as he leaned toward him slightly. Not enough to be cause for concern, just a little bit. A fond distance, the way one might lean in to whisper something conspiratorially to a friend.

"I'm starting to like it, here." And Liam, after that debacle, straightened and donned an expression of complete innocence. He shouldn't have said it, not when he was delicately handling matters of utmost important. But it had begged to be said.

"I'm... glad." Nahir said slowly, and his gaze shifted to connect with Liam's as they walked. And then it happened.

"You're smiling!" Liam gaped, taking it in like the sight of all the rare mobs appearing simultaneously in the middle of Northrend. This was _bloody rare_.

"My apologies," the priest said. "I will be sure not to do it again." But he didn't stop.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Yuren muttered as he gathered the multitude of ingredients onto the spacious counters of the kitchen. "Expecting me to just _whip up _the equivalent of ten mage tables. I'll need my chef's hat for this."

"What do we do?" Felfe asked tentatively. He shrank back a little as Yuren slammed a knife down onto the cutting board, thankfully not repeating the finger-severing that had once occurred from a similar action.

"Nothing tough," Yuren told him, restraining his acidity because this was Felfe, and the elf didn't know how to sort characteristic sarcasm from malicious sarcasm. Or something like that.

"Neither of us have any experience with cooking," Alyane remarked airily. She seemed irritated that she was detained in the kitchen, and by her eyes flickering from ingredients to cooking knife, she hadn't been in many kitchens.

"You ought to," the warrior seemed oddly smug as he set out the recipes. "Silya is a _notoriously_ bad cook, you know."

Felfe blinked. "What does that have to do with..."

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Yuren exclaimed in frustration, but he calmed before he turned on the elf. "Listen, Felfe, you can't tell me you don't know?"

"Oh! About Alyane and Silya?" Felfe brightened, and he looked over at Alyane to confirm his suspicions. "Did they make up?"

"Did they, indeed..." Yuren went back to sorting his mats, hint of a smile on undead lips.

Alyane may have blinked, but said nothing.

* * *

Felfe had to rush back to his guest room at the mansion in order to get ready in time. The party was only an hour away, and he had so much to do! Er, that is... brush his hair, find some semblance of a party outfit, and then sit in his room and wait until the opportune time to join the party. Which Alyane had told him was _always _at least fifteen minutes after the start of the party. An hour if it was a casual party.

But Silya's ball (for it was more that than a party) was definitely not casual. As he locked his door and started to rummage through the dresser, he cringed at the lack of respectable clothing. He supposed he could wear some of the Embroidered set that he had used the night before, but... Kain and Guanji would know that he had just worn it. That wasn't right, was it? He hardly had anything else, though. A few pieces of the Azure Silk set, a few Bard's pieces. Red Mageweave pants. But none of that went together without clashing horribly.

Gathering that he did not possess anything close to an acceptable outfit, Felfe took a few deep breaths. No clothes. He had _no clothes_. Breathe, Felfe, breathe!

He would just have to borrow something from... someone around here who was his size. That ruled out Kain, Guanji... well, Yuren was thin enough, but too tall... maybe he could get something from Silya. Something tomboyish... oh, Elune!

He sat down on his bed and, agitated, made a bunch of weird faces to try and let out some stress. Everything would be fine. He would go and ask Silya for help. With a fixed plan, he recuperated some energy and left his room to seek out the star of the party. Even if she didn't have anything he could borrow, she'd know what to do.

* * *

Alyane, with merely an hour to spare before the party, took a great deal of care not to look like she was rushing back to Silya's room. Which she most certainly was not. She was patiently, briskly walking toward her destination, and she was not aggravated by the amount of time she'd - not wasted, sacrificed - preparing food with Yuren and Felfe. No, when she arrived at Silya's door she was not impatient in the least.

She knocked politely. The door opened, and Silya smiled immediately upon seeing her face. Then her expression changed to surprise as the warlock swept in and shut the door swiftly, pinning her against the back of the door. Bright green eyes went wide with apprehension. Scared? Most likely. Alyane didn't mind that; no time for minding subtleties like that.

"Alya -"

The temptress's mouth descended on the unprepared one, impatient as a fifty-eight minute dungeon queue victim. Silya gave a confused gasp into the kiss, and Alyane deepened it without hesitation. She pressed closer to the blonde elf and it was all softness and warmth, contact intensifying what had started as an improvisation. She tilted her head for better access to Silya's mouth, and they shared a kiss less graceful than the succubus usually initiated. No time for grace.

She noticed Silya struggling a little, and pulled away. The mage appeared out of breath, taking a few moments to steady herself as she took deep breaths.

Alyane placed one hand gently on Silya's shoulder and muttered a spell. "Unending Breath. It is of much use in these situations."

She gave the other elf only a moment to digest this news before claiming her lips again. How was it that a seasoned temptress, demoness, succubus, and plenty of other names to spare would be so affected by a single person? Silya was beautiful, yes. And adorable in her own way. But she was not polished, not sophisticated, not perfection like her once mentor. Fully-clothed, lacking makeup, hair down and about to get ready for a party, Silya was what a stranger might call 'cute' but plain nonetheless. Certainly not 'sexy'.

Alyane's emotions differed drastically. Something about the unkempt, unrefined purity of the blonde elf drew her in. It was like tundra berries, sweet and natural, where everyone expected the alcohol-laden, refined kungaloosh. The realness of Silya made her irresistible.

"A-Alyane!" Silya had managed to avoid another torrent of impassioned kisses and was now holding off her ex-mentor with both hands. "I, uh, what happened to you?"

This might have worked to stall and then calm the warlock if Silya's hastily-placed hands had not slipped a little in the struggle. The mage followed Alyane's downward gaze and quickly took her right hand from where it had been resting on a rather shapely breast. Silya actually giggled after her initial gasp of horror.

"Impatience," Alyane said shortly, and she let one finger trail dangerously from just below the mage's jaw, down her neck, past her collarbone...

An intake of breath from the mage as the questing appendage stopped significantly just short of what most would consider inappropriate territory. But Silya didn't do anything to discourage such exploration, if wriggling slightly did not count. The perfectly-crimson nail trailed marginally lower. No protests.

Alyane fought the impulses with calm logic, but calm logic got itself zerged like a five-base win in Arathi Basin. Although Alyane would have been content with only a second base... losing temporarily would be wise at this point in the battleground. Besides, she would reach the third base with plenty of time left, if all went well.

Impulse won, and the warlock was soon indulging the blonde's neck with skillful ministrations, rewarded with little gasps and Silya's hands once again coming to seize the front of her robes. With the result that Alyane nearly winced at the rough groping that ocurred, if accidentally.

"I'm so sorry!" Silya exclaimed, sounding spectacularly embarrassed. "I... I haven't... you know, with a woman. I keep forgetting you have, uh, them. Too."

Alyane's musical laugh floated up before she went back to bestowing strategic kisses along the pale column of neck presented to her. She was interrupted, however, when Silya's hands relaxed... and then began feeling her tentatively, squeezing lightly, curiously. The warlock, distracted, nipped her rather too enthusiastically near the base of her neck as a result.

"Mmm..." Silya sighed, sounding pleased. Alyane hadn't expected such a positive reaction from incidental roughness. Plans would have to be altered, if that was not a fluke.

Another bite, to test. Silya reacted the same way as before, but this time she squirmed provocatively against the door. It was time to take this foray to a better arena. She shifted Silya away from the door and reclaimed the petite mouth as she backed her toward the bed. A not-so-subtle shove, and Silya fell back onto the bed. She did not look surprised as her former mentor crawled to join her, catlike grace showing in such maneuvering.

Cornered again, Silya only made one feeble argument. "You know, the party is in an hour. I still have to... get... ready..."

She had slowed when Alyane's mouth took up its previous position at the base of her neck, then made its way significantly toward her collarbone and lower. The modest robes the mage was wearing then prevented her from proceeding, as they were cut at least an inch above showing any cleavage. But Silya was underneath her and made complacent by her doings, so Alyane threw caution to the Drake of the East Wind.

The garment slipped off the blonde's shoulders quite easily, and it only took a few moments for the temptress to expertly unlace the back of the dress. Silya shivered as her generic brassiere was bared to the air, but when Alyane's eyes flickered to hers they seemed, if anything, to hold an expectant light. And she would not disappoint.

* * *

Felfe had arrived at Silya's room in time to see the door shake a little, as if someone was leaning back against it very forcefully. He puzzled at this phenomenon for a few moments, but it didn't happen again, so he tried to muster his courage. He wasn't afraid of Silya, she was just a little... intimidating. Her bubbly personality was a little much for him, at times, and it often felt like he was being swept up in her plans whenever they went shopping. Which had been only once.

He realized how long he had been standing there, absorbed in his hesitation, and he decided just to hurry up and do it. He knocked. And he waited.

He wasn't expecting Silya to answer the door looking like she had just lost an arena match in Nagrand. Her hair looked somehow windblown, and the ruddiness of her cheeks couldn't have been makeup. Or maybe she was just experimenting with a new look? It was kind of fashionable, he had to admit, in a Silvermoon Vogue sort of way.

"Oh, F-Felfe!" She smiled, and he noticed that she was trembling a little.

"Silya," He greeted politely, and then stated his case. "Um, I was wondering if you had any clothes I could borrow. I don't have anything for a party..."

"Right, of course." She darted back inside the door and closed it.

He thought it was kind of rude for her to leave him waiting outside her door, but he supposed he had been cutting into her preparation time, and by the looks of it she needed all the time she had left. He waited for a few minutes, hearing the telltale sounds of drawers opening and things being thrown to the floor.

The door burst open again, and she lumped a large pile of clothing into his arms, smile wavering. "That should do it. See you soon!" And the door closed quickly with a bang.

He retreated back to his room, much relieved to have more clothes to choose from. The topic of her oddness was completely forgotten amongst thoughts of outfits and style-matching.

* * *

Blasted parties. Yuren hated them like wolvars hated little baby murlocs. Bah! What use did parties serve? Trying to keep up with that many people was impossible, and he had no idea why Silya was so fond of the practice. Not only that, she always insisted that her parties be more glamorous, more outrageous than any before them. By now, of course, she also had the pressure of outshining her previous parties, making party planning nightmarish. Everything had to be just right, and...

He gave a growl and finished cleaning the kitchen. All the food was done, all the dishes either kept cool or warm, or in the desserts' case cooling on the counters. Chocolate Celebration Cake was not a piece of cake to cook, so to speak. He had better be well rewarded for pulling together such a feast. But he knew he wouldn't be, and he only scowled and leaned back against the counter.

Damned paladin would probably be showing up tonight. How couldn't he? Silya had invited anyone whose name she remembered. Hell, she had probably invited all the raiding members of the Guild. But that was hardly the point. The _point, _Yuren concluded with a budding headache, was that Lance would be in attendance tonight. Even thinking the name sent him into convulsions. He would _not _back down and admit - well, nothing. Because there was nothing to admit. But he would not back down, even if he had nothing to admit.

Huffy, the undead warrior made his way back to his cramped quarters and took a half-hour long steam in the shower, trying to drown out the displeasing thoughts with water. It didn't work half as well as he thought, and it made him into something of an undead raisin. Most would agree that this was a pitiable plight, and he grimaced at his skin when he stepped out to dry himself. Raisin-skin and undead did not mix well.

* * *

**And next chapter will be HUGE. The party, after all, awaits...**


	11. Chapter 11

This chapter was actually complete a week ago, written in several airports. Couldn't be uploaded since I had no wireless where I traveled. Also picked up a nasty virus... (on me, not the computer... yay?).

**Reviewers:**

MischeviousMagic - Thanks so much for seeing it through! It's true, when I look back at the first story in the series I can see that I've really improved since then. I'm in the middle of editing the entire series at the moment, so the first eleven-ish chapters are getting updated quite a bit to reflect the later quality (I will be uploading the complete, edited series as one fanfiction when I finish)! Yes, I've heard most of the reviewers favor Lance and Yuren, and I have to admit that they're often my favorite to write, too (shhh, don't tell Liam).

11Dancer14 - I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations for the party! Hrrrrm.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

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* * *

**

It wasn't that Liam wasn't ready to talk to people, to do this weird group therapy thingy. He just didn't want to. Hell, he couldn't remember when he'd last thought of parties, or raids, or anything group-related and thought 'hey, cool'. People just weren't for him, and he wasn't gonna try to fit in with them when he didn't even like them. That was what he told himself, anyway.

So it wasn't that he couldn't try to smile and 'participate' as they went around in a circle giving their names and something cute, silly, or endearing about themselves. He just didn't want to. And like a stubborn tank who can't admit he doesn't know where he's going, Liam was reduced to folding his arms and pretty much pouting.

Nahir had given him the news right before they entered the small, fenced-in outside area of the institution. Apparently someone had paged him on his communicator and told him that the paladin lady had caused more than a few upsets with the other trainees - exactly like Wrenn's story. This, followed by a subtle inquiry to Bachi, had resulted in the approval of Liam's request. Wrenn was now being informed of his newfound freedom.

Which, of course, gave Liam absolutely no reason to like this group therapy thing any longer. I mean, he wasn't gonna bomb it, but he didn't have to pretend to enjoy it for the sake of his friend now. He was free, in a way, free to sit there and pout like a young gnome girl whose conjured mana bread had staled. And that was that.

He stole a glance at Nahir, who was sitting at his left, and guilt seeped into him. His mentor looked almost content. Only the first tendrils of doubt were beginning to disrupt the purity of Nahir's recent optimism, and Liam didn't have to be a mentor to figure out that it was his fault. Why couldn't he just play along, just to give the poor guy a break?

I mean, as much as he hated - uh, lusted after, whatever - Nahir, he had to agree with himself that the man could use a rest. All that seriousness, that razor-sharp icicle-like demeanor... he wondered if that was the guy's reaction to being around a psychotic madman. And it wasn't like Liam had made it any easier for him, what with the constant mocking and general stubborn refusal to think about... well, anything.

He'd play along, for now. With a stifled sigh, he straightened his back a little even though it was tempting to slouch when sitting cross-legged. He contemplated Nahir, and mimicked him by unfolding his arms and placing his hands, relaxed, on his knees.

He did his best to don a smile.

The introductions got around to Temarr, and the undead warlock didn't take the same measures to look happy. "I am Temarr. Something interesting about me... I'm undead." A heavy sigh. "And I'm afraid I have to leave in a few minutes."

Liam immediately looked to Nahir expectantly, hoping to procure a similar escape. But although he made various gestures and significant expressions, his mentor only smiled wryly and shook his head. The bastard was getting a sense of humor, damn him. And what was Temarr doing leaving, anyway? What gave him the ability to just get up and -

Oh. Hot breath on his ear. That was a new one.

"Temarr entered the institution voluntarily, and he has the right to leave on occasional excursions." Nahir's whisper seemed louder than intended, this close to him. It reminded him uncomfortably of _that _night, although whether those had been his whispers or Liam's... who knew.

As Nahir leaned back, Liam recovered his composure - if he had such a thing - and made sure to give him an understanding nod. Yet there was so much he didn't understand now. Why Nahir was smiling, for example. Or maybe, why Nahir was whispering provocatively in his ear. That voice had been too close for a neutral, impersonal whisper. Surely.

* * *

"Oh my gosh! I can't believe it!" Silya exclaimed, rushing around her room, which was now Alyane-less. She had apologetically shooed the warlock from her room after Felfe left, when she realized that there was only forty minutes until the party started.

Now it was fifteen minutes. Her hair was done, her outfit on, and she was halfway through her makeup. With all luck, she'd make it in time. With a hurried motion, she finished her rogue - or rouge? she could never remember how to spell it, for some reason - and moved onto her mascara. Practiced hands applied it to both eyes simultaneously, duel-wielding mascara tubes. She slathered on some lip gloss, smacked her lips a few times, and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

A lovely emerald-green dress, cut to show a lot of midriff and just a hint of cleavage, paired with soft silver slippers and some goblin-work earrings, also silver. Her nails were a complementary shade of green to match, and her makeup reflected that same sense of style.

She grinned and made some faux-sexy faces at the mirror. "I should be a fire mage, 'cause I'm smoki - "

Thankfully, she was unable to complete the horrendous sentence due to the knock at her door. It sounded like Felfe, that kind of timid three knocks followed by a belated fourth one. As if in apology for the first three being wimpy, the fourth was always just a little louder.

It was Felfe, and he was beaming as he handed back some of her clothes. He was dressed in red mageweave pants paired with an elegant white shirt and a silver-thread vest, matched with similar boots. He kinda looked like a pirate, but luckily it was cute on him, and not tacky like it would be on someone else. Mostly.

"Thanks for the clothes," he said, and with a bow scampered off to wherever it was he was going. Probably to find her brother. Kain and Felfe were rarely apart for long, these days.

With a smile and a small sigh, Silya packed the clothes away and left her room. As she walked down the hallways and toward the ballroom, she took a deep breath to steady herself. Party. Excitement. Friends. It got her so worked up! But it was a good worked up.

* * *

"Blasted party taking up everyone's precious time," Yuren muttered as he saw Felfe, then Guanji, then Silya pass him in the hallway, with varying degrees of haste. Which, in this case, had nothing to do with their equipment.

Felfe had flown past as if on the wings of a Vortex Pinnacle cyclone. Guanji had been slightly less quick on his feet, but certainly looked hurried. And Silya had passed him with a polite, if strained greeting. She had been walking just a tiny bit too fast, as if trying to restrain herself from running. Well, _he _was not going to run. He couldn't fathom why the rest of them thought it necessary, but he didn't have any reason to go beyond his usual plod.

"Yuren," Kain's voice came at him from his left. "Good evening."

Yuren resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he saw the getup the paladin had going. "Someone's dressed for wooing."

Kain frowned, the gears turning behind his eyes. "Is it so obvious?" He had gotten so very predictable since the arrival of the Felfe era.

Not that Yuren disliked the naive night-elf... he just couldn't bear to let anyone see that he was fond of something that innocent. Uncorrupted people were better off not consorting with the undead, Yuren preferred to believe, as the undead as a people were often very morbid. Only natural, of course.

When Kain continued to look contemplative, Yuren gave a sigh and said, "Look, the night-elf isn't very perceptive to begin with. I doubt he'll get the significance."

The significance of that ridiculous outfit Kain was wearing, that is. The paladin looked like a young lord, which ironically he was, only the dashing cape, blousy laced shirt, and breeches ensemble was overdoing it a little. And those boots, trimmed in silver engraving... too much, Kain. Too much.

If Kain noticed the slur on Felfe's lack of awareness, he didn't care to comment, only nodded slowly. "You are probably right."

They reached the ballroom, and Yuren let his raid leader push open the large oak doors. It was indeed a glorious, cinematic moment when the overly-heroic figure of Lord Kain parted the doors with a bang and entered the ballroom. Yuren caught one of the doors as it rebounded, narrowly avoiding a concussion and a five second stun. Paladins...

This was going to be a helluva night. And by that, he meant it had no hope of becoming interesting. Parties were never interesting, unless someone got attacked or a fight broke out. Which had happened last time Silya threw a party; the realization pained him as he viewed the memories. Hopefully today would stay uninteresting.

A couple hours later, Yuren's suspicions were confirmed. The party, as it was, was not getting any more interesting. It was a good thing in some ways, but leaning against the wall of the ballroom near all the other misfits was no his idea of a good time. All the unwanted dance partners were around these parts, scattered haphazardly like a broken PuG after disbanding. He tried, really tried, not to look around at all of these poor souls.

Temarr, that dreary warlock who always looked like he had just been scheduled to tank heroics all day, was sitting in a chair by the wall. Despite his demeanor, he was tapping his skeletal fingers against his chair to the rhythm of the minuet currently playing. Beside him, a troll rogue was lounging, occasionally making small talk with the lock. Yekkinji didn't appear to have any potential dance partners, but even so Yuren thought it very depressing to have to talk to Temarr.

There were more, of course. The messenger guy, who was very unpopular since the Liam incident, and Maren, whose reputation was eternally unchanging - the way of sluts, of course. A tauren druid, who was humming to himself, probably out of boredom. A guild member here and there. None of Silya's 'bffs' were among these, naturally. They were all taken for the next few dances, as far as Yuren could tell. They were, after all, the kinds of girls who delivered. And he wasn't talking about the messenger guy.

So really, everything was drab but tolerable until the succubus floated towards him, fangs bared.

"Enjoying the ball?" Alyane asked him smoothly, heavily made-up and as ridiculously statuesque as always. Her eyes were a deep emerald green of the Green Dragonflight's scales, her milk-white skin put milk to shame, and... something something. Yuren had never been incredibly good with description, and Alyane's usual epithets slipped his mind this time.

"It's great," he answered without interest. "Just peachy." Inwardly he told her to go bother someone else. Her eyelashes, roughly the size of the spikes in Blades Edge, were beginning to scare him. He only had two, very undead eyes, and he wanted to keep them for a while.

"Lancelot has not shown, has he?" It was a sharp jab, and she knew it. Her eyes, oddly, held an almost genuine expression of sympathy that he couldn't figure.

"Yes, well, I don't see Silya hanging all over you." He bit back the rest of the retort, which undoubtedly would have started a duel. As it was, her eyes flashed angrily for a moment before she regained her composure.

"Silya would prefer that I remain anonymous for the time being," the warlock said coolly, and as she leaned back against the wall beside him, he caught a hint of a sigh. "Therefore, the both of us are rendered partner-less."

He blanched. "If you think I'm going to dance with _you_ - "

"No, no." She waved off his suspicions with a crimson-manicured hand. "Merely drawing out the similar situations we find ourselves in. They say misery loves company."

"Go talk to Temarr, then." Yuren growled, but couldn't muster the strength to really glare at her. "He can tell you about misery."

"You are determined to dislike me," Alyane concluded with a shake of her head. Perfectly set ringlets bounced, and even that was graceful with her.

Yuren scowled. This idea that he hated people, this was a pattern he often faced with people who didn't understand him and his characteristic acidity. People who weren't Lance. The thought startled him, and he fell silent for a moment before he replied to her.

"I am quite unhappy," he said cautiously, feeling out the words as he said them. "It's nothing personal."

"The feeling is mutual, then." Alyane folded her arms and her lips turned up in an impression of a smile.

* * *

In another arena, the Nagrand Arena to be exact, shiv was going down. A human rogue successfully poisoned her enemy, the last surviving member of the other 2v2 team, and abruptly vanished. She stealthed around a pillar, searching for her own companion, wondering if he had been felled in battle. Yep, there was the corpse of a gnome priest, trampled and flattened like something very flat. The downed member of the enemy team had been a tauren - it hadn't worked out well for her partner.

With renewed vigor and a thirst to win, she sprinted silently toward the remaining orc warrior, who was shifting from side to side nervously, obviously trying to anticipate where she would appear. She sapped him, watched as he used his trinket, and immediately cheap shot his ass. Or somewhere close to there. The next few moments were a flurry of movement.

Not Blade Flurry, of course, since it had been recently nerfed and now served no other purpose than to hit multiple targets and significantly slow the rogue down. But it was a flurry, a barrage of attacks incorporating Adrenaline Rush, her battle trinket, and a handful of helpful stuns. The warrior didn't stand a chance. He flopped onto the ground like a dead night-elf female, and the rogue's team officially won the match.

In the locker room afterwards, the tauren druid and orc warrior toweled off after washing the Nagrand sand off their now bruised bodies. Another loss, another pathetic match where they were prepared to blame each other, but somehow couldn't do more than shrug and pretend optimism. The tauren started to put on his equipment, wincing when his chestpiece brushed against a dark purple patch on his hairy skin.

"Hey, it won't be as bad next time," the tauren druid told the orc warrior, mustering a halfhearted smile. "That rogue knew what she was doing."

"Dude, it's always that bad!" The orc groaned, throwing on his legplates and doing up his belt. "At this rate, we're never gonna make it to the pro level."

"You're such a warrior," the druid shook his head and began fastening his cloak to his back. "It'll be fine, you'll see."

"Yeah, see. CC, to be exact." The orc turned, sliding on his gloves, to give the tauren a most displeased look. "Where were your roots, anyway?"

"Left 'em at home," the tauren joked, and the conversation abruptly staled.

* * *

The party was winding down, and Yuren was getting more than a little nervous that the paladin - he wouldn't say his name - hadn't shown yet. Sure, the guy had raids to go to and all that. But that couldn't interfere with one of Silya's parties! Everyone who was anyone got an invitation, and few were brave enough to turn them down. Not even the undead warrior himself, as he was standing here, alone, on the sidelines. Paladin-less.

Alyane had left a while ago for some food, and now she was back with a platter of delicious that Yuren had cooked up. He didn't really eat, so he wasn't about to go bragging, but... it was some pretty good food. The Seafood Magnifique had turned out far better than he could have hoped (considering the fish bits and spices scattered all over the kitchen). And the Chocolate Celebration cake was as good as usual, though they had bought it from Aimee in Dalaran. He never would have admitted it to anyone, but that lady made dang good pastries. She was a regular grandmaster baker.

And then there was the booze. Vinemaster Suntouched must have been touched by more than sun, because he had unloaded twenty kegs of doublerum on them. Yuren supposed this was mostly his own fault, as he _had _told Guanji to get as many as the man had in stock. But still... who was going to drink that much, especially of doublerum? He suspected that this overload of alcohol was behind the regression of at least seventy percent of the party - all the blood-elves besides Kain, and a good deal of trolls, orcs, a couple undead, and every single goblin present. Goblins were notorious for the drink, after all.

"Still waiting?" Alyane asked him, in between bites of Seafood Magnifique.

"Aren't you?" he shot back, and for good measure took the fortune cookie off her plate and cracked it open.

"What does it tell you?" she asked, surprisingly complacent for someone whose fortune cookie had just been stolen. She had finished the seafood and ws moving on to her slice of cake. Yuren was stunned that she even consumed such fare, chocolate cake being as fattening as it was. At least, the way Aimee made it, which involved five sticks of butter.

Yuren read the small slip of paper and grimaced. _"Sometimes you don't know what you have until it is gone."_

"Appropriate," the warlock said quietly, and he caught her smiling for a moment. She really was an evil succubus, preying on the misfortune of others. Or perhaps she was just bitter that Silya wasn't sleeping - ah, dancing - with her. Yuren would have pointed this out if he wanted to get death coiled, but that was more Temarr's thing.

"You going to go get another?" Yuren nodded at the fortune cookie. For some reason he suddenly felt the urge to be far nicer than before, and he almost offered to go get her one. Except that he might have caused too much of a splash by doing so. He did not usually go out of his way for others, and they all knew it.

"Perhaps," she said vaguely. "But I am not certain I want one."

"You got that one... for me?" Yuren ventured cautiously. It didn't seem possible. "Suspicious."

She laughed, a musical laugh like the tinkling of bells. He didn't find himself disturbed by it this time, as she hadn't even bothered to hide it behind a hand. Something in the way she laughed so freely made him detest her a little less.

* * *

"What?" Wrenn sat up on his bed faster than a blinking mage. "I'm free to go?"

"That is correct," his mentor confirmed, looking oddly disappointed. His pointed orange beard was curling a little at the end. A sign of confusion, no doubt.

"Uh, okay." Wrenn didn't know what was going on, but he was sure he didn't belong in the institution. Maybe someone had finally figured it out and made some investigations. Boy, when he saw that paladin girl... not like he could do anything, since she had won that spar without breaking a sweat. But he would do something... probably.

He got up and followed his mentor out the door and to a storage room. His mentor tossed an armful of equipment at him and steered him to a closet-like room with instructions to change. The paladin shrugged, put all of his equipment back on, and gave a contented sigh. It was good to be back in mail. Someday he hoped to wear plate... if he survived that long.

"You done?" the officious voice called out.

"Yeah," Wrenn said, stepping back out. "So can I go back to the training camp?"

"Well, Commander Bachi was not pleased with that course of action," his mentor began patiently, frowning. "For now, you are being sent to the Argent Tournament to work with Confessor Paletress."

"C-Confessor Paletress?" Wrenn gaped. "She's one of the most revered servants of the Light! What does she want with me?"

"Apparently she got a letter from Lady Liadrin. Something about your exuberance regarding the vow of chastity?"

Wrenn scratched his head. He couldn't really remember anything odd during his interview to join the paladin order. But if he was going to work with the Confessor, he didn't care what the reason was. This was unbelievable! Maybe she'd train his specially, to be one of the greatest paladins in the World. Oh, maybe he'd meet Sir Eadric! He was starting to lose himself in the thoughts of glorious Light-filled futures.

"So what kind of work?" he asked hurriedly, coming back to the present with a grin.

His mentor blanched. "Well, she needed a secretary..."

* * *

**It's ROGUE.**


	12. Chapter 12

Back at school, but I won't let that stop me. I'm gonna finish this series, graaaar!

Although I kinda wonder just how long it's gonna take to finish... never seems to be really over. But hey, do I want it to be?

**Reviewers:**

PencilsLovePaper - I am liking your ideas! I had no idea my random arena team would interest anyone, gotta say. Ah, I keep forgetting to stick a Draenei in somewhere... decisions, decisions. So many characters to write, my goodness.

MischeviousMagic - Thank you! Hrrrm... I wonder if an undead and a succubus can be friends. We shall see. And Lance has some explainin' to do, doesn't he?

11Dancer14 - Glad you liked it! School is lame, though. That I can definitely agree to.

Colore et confits - Felfe is Combat-swords spec (well, back when that used to be a spec; now it's just Combat general). Mashing 222223 is pretty much enough for him to think about. Not sure the poor guy could handle Subtlety or Assassination. And yes, we will be seeing some expack action in the story... wahahahaha.

Verd - Aaaand another LancexYuren appreciator. XD

Copycat1773 - Which orc priest is that? I'm wracking my brain now to see if I ever mentioned orc priests before. I don't think so?

TheHomicidalManiac777 - Oh my, another new face! Glad to see you join us (and the LancexYuren club). I will have to start writing more of them in each chapter since it looks like there's such a liking for them!

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**Chapter Twelve**

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Felfe paced the dining room, letter in hand. Mother didn't often ask him to come home, so he felt like he had a duty this time. He did want to see her, it was just... she never seemed to understand him. Not in a terrible, my-life-is-ending, hunter-just-pulled-the-boss way. In a sighing, arathi-basin-loss way. It was bound to happen, but it was still troublesome. You would think that because she had raised him, she would know him better. But every time he went home - the last time was around a year ago - she asked him all the same questions.

How's adventuring? (It was horrible.) "Great. Really great."

Are the other adventurers nice to you? (No.) "Yeah, I'm making lots of friends."

Did you bring a girl with you? (I don't like girls!) "Um, no. But I know lots of, um, girls."

When am I going to see grandkids? (...) "Soon?"

It always went like that, so he dreaded going home. No one liked lying to their parents, and Felfe only had Mother to lie to. It made him feel guilty and useless, because if he was the macho, muscled night-elf man his mother wanted him to be, all of those answers wouldn't have been lies.

The door to the dining room banged open, and Felfe spun around to see Silya enter, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She looked more than a little disheveled, but he could see a tired smile on her face. The kind you didn't have to keep up - it just stayed there by itself. He idly wondered how she'd got it.

"Oh, hi Felfe." She was already smiling when she looked at him, like it was stuck on her. "You looking for some breakfast?"

"Um, I was just..." He fingered the letter awkwardly. "Just thinking."

She gave him a knowing look. "Going to see her today?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to muster a smile. "Probably."

"Well, just sit down and I'll go, uh, whip something up." She gestured to the chairs hastily and hurried over to the kitchen. The door slammed behind her - impressive - and sounds of pots and pans being moved around wafted through the wall.

Felfe couldn't imagine what Silya was going to make for breakfast, as the last time he'd seen her cook it had been a tin can sitting in the middle of a saucepan. But he shrugged and turned his attention back to the letter. He would go. He had to.

The door to the dining room banged again, this time a little more softly. He looked up to see Kain striding purposefully in, fully dressed and awake unlike his sister. That familiar low-power smirk graced his features as he saw Felfe, though he quickly schooled it into a more harmless smile. One of these days Felfe would remind him that he didn't mind the blood-elf smirks, 'cause they were only natural for blood-elves.

"Ah, the letter." Kain took a seat beside him and noticed what the night-elf was looking at so intently. "Are you planning on visiting her today?"

"Yes," Felfe said quietly. The noise of clanging and sloshing water filled the air for a moment, and he wondered if he ought to see if Silya was okay. But he was distracted the next moment by Kain's hand on his.

"Would you like me to go with you?" the High Warlord and leader of the Guild offered humbly. Concern creased those eyebrows and daunted the glowing green eyes beneath them.

"I..." Felfe thought for a moment, picturing everything in his head. "I guess it'd be all right."

"I didn't ask if it would be all right, Felfe." An amused smile, a warm hand slipping into his. "I asked if you _wanted _me to go with you."

"Oh, right." Blush, fumble. The letter slipped from his hand but he didn't break eye contact to retrieve it. "Well, yeah, I want you to go with me."

"Then I will," Kain concluded, reaching down to get the letter and hand it back to him. "And I want to."

Silya stumbled sleepily back into the room with a bowl of what looked like Westfall Stew. She froze when she saw her brother, for some reason, and hastened back into the kitchen to get a couple more bowls. While she was setting them down, Felfe noticed her hands shaking. Which was pretty obvious once she spilled the second bowl.

"Silya, are you well?" Kain asked, having immediately leapt to his feet to help her clean up.

"I'm great!" she said with forced pep. Where was the smile Felfe had seen on her before? Had something happened in the kitchen?

Felfe was about to voice these thoughts when the door banged open spectacularly to admit Alyane, who never banged doors half-assedly. She had a very familiar smile on her face, one that she seemed unable to keep under control. And, although she was immaculate as always, there was a certian relaxedness about her...

The warlock, like Silya, stiffened when she saw Kain. Felfe just looked from one to the other, trying to piece together an explanation. Kain's eyes widened perceptably as he looked from from his sister to the temptress, and all at once he let out a hearty blood-elf laugh. Alyane sagged a little and Silya unthawed and Felfe was just as confused as before.

"There is no need to explain," Kain said generously, waving a hand to signal the trivial nature of explanations at this point.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Felfe cut in, feeling that there was definitely a need for explanation because he didn't have the faintest idea what had happened.

Alyane hid a laugh behind her hand and Kain looked to Silya for support. The blonde elf hesitated, pondered for a moment, and sat down in the chair beside Felfe - formerly Kain's chair - and began to explain.

"Well, see, uh, Alyane and I..." She gestured to the warlock awkwardly. "We're, um, together. _Together_ together."

"Oh!" Felfe couldn't stop the giggles that threatened. "Oh, that's... hehe... why didn't you say so?" He was having a hard time picturing things, but that wasn't really any of his business.

"You see, Silya?" Alyane stood there with a helpless smile. "And you were so worried about anyone knowing."

"Well, I think we're waaay past that step, now." Silya joked, getting to her feet with a mischevious grin.

An undead warrior, who had just entered the room quietly, stopped dead. Or undead. "Whoa, whoa, did I miss something?" His yellowed eyes were sharpened as they stopped on Alyane. "Wait, that's..."

"We're what you might call 'together'," Alyane said, drawing Silya to her gracefully.

Yuren stood there, clearly digesting things, and then gave a sigh. "Well, isn't that great. I, uh, gratz. Yeah." And he turned and limped out of the room. Limped as in 'departed with much embarrassment'.

* * *

To be fair, Dolanaar was very pretty this time of year. That was what Felfe was thinking to try and forget his nervousness. Even with Kain walking beside him, he was antsy as they drew closer to the inn. Muffins, Kain made him _more_ nervous! Mother deserved to know the truth, but he found himself piecing out the lie he would tell her. Something about having a 'close friend' who happened to be the highest ranking blood-elf in the Horde. He wasn't even sure she'd take that all too well; he had never asked her what she thought of the enemy faction.

Kain placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Felfe jumped. He caught his breath, stopping for a moment, and gave the paladin a sheepish look. He was so jumpy right now, and the last thing he wanted was for Mother to find out about their relationship. It was true, most elves thought it was nothing out of the ordinary for two men to be in love. But this was Mother, and she was always talking about how much she wanted grandkids.

He caught sight of her as they turned the corner, her short silvery hair and violet face markings all too familiar. Dressed in hunter leather, she stood poised near the stable, a keeper of adventurers' pets. It didn't take long for her to notice him coming, and her bright eyes lit up, if possible, further.

She let out a squeal and rushed to him, enveloping him in one of her death squeezes. He flailed in her grasp, the air rushing out of him.

"Ohhh, Felfe!" she gushed. "Mommy is sooo happy to see you!"

Normally this crushing hug would have gone on for longer, but she straightened up when she saw the rather dashing figure of Lord Kain standing at the sidelines, watching tensely.

"My," she said wonderingly, looking from Felfe to the impressive blood-elf paladin. "Who is that?"

Kain skillfully made his way over to them and gave a flourishy blood-elf bow, expression carefully neutral. "My name is Kain. It is a pleasure to meet you, ah..."

"You can call me Seri!" Her assessment of him was evident, and her conclusion seemed to be a positive one. "Are you a friend of Felfe?"

"Indeed," Kain said cryptically, with the smile he had developed for situations where his smirk might get him into trouble.

Seriadne seemed to hesitate a moment, but then she launched into her usual barrage of questions, like a fury warrior learning to dual-wield. And Felfe could not dodge all of them, still a lower-level rogue and not nearly agile enough. Mother was too fast.

"How's adventuring?" (It was horrible.) "Great. Really great!"

"Are the other adventurers nice to you?" (No.) "Yeah, I'm making lots of friends."

"Did you bring a girl with you?" (I don't like girls!) "Um, no. But I know lots of, um, girls."

At this, Seriadne seemed to pause, ready to ask her 'grandkids' question but distracted by something. Felfe had not brought a girl, evidently. But he had brought a handsome young man with him. Thoughts churned, eyes narrowed slightly. Mothers always possessed that measure of sharpness when it came to the glaringly obvious, and this was no exception.

"You brought... a man with you," she pointed out casually, as if over moonberry juice and freshly-toasted bread. Her eyes were fixed on Felfe's.

"Um, yeah." Felfe couldn't exactly lie on this one, seeing as the evidence was standing next to him. Kain, probably sensing the tension, placed a comforting hand on the night-elf's shoulder as he tended to do.

The hand did it, because the next moment Mother said quietly, "Felfe, do you have something you'd like to tell Mommy?"

Felfe froze, and not from her ice block; Mother wasn't extreme enough to use something like that on him. But it was still very cold right then, the air itself becoming heavy and frigid. Kain stepped a little closer to Felfe, and they shared a significant look. Felfe's a helpless one, Kain's a much more seasoned expression of acceptance. A sort of 'no one wins against the Tol Barad defenders anyway' look that only those who had been about the World could understand.

"Um, I..." Felfe shifted uneasily, seeing his mother's searching gaze on him. "I brought Kain with me because... I-I..." He seemed about to faint, placing a hand on Kain's arm to steady himself.

When it seemed that Felfe wasn't able to say more, Seriadne assessed the situation and calmly finished for him, "You are in love with him?"

Felfe really did swoon this time, out of sheer panic. Kain expertly caught him before he fell, standing the night-elf back up and speaking in hushed tones words of encouragement. Felfe's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Kain with a world-is-ending look. Kain shook his head and rubbed Felfe's back gently.

"That is correct," Kain said to Seriadne, glancing over at her from where he had been singularly devoted to Felfe's well-being.

Felfe, despite himself, had to look back at his mother to see what was going to happen. A chill ran through him at the thought of the consequences. Would she... disown him? Or maybe she would just quietly walk away and never speak to him again. Or maybe she would, but she would ignore that this had ever been said, in a kind of denial for the rest of her life. What would it be?

Her eyes, sharp and cold, looked at the both of them with the beginnings of understanding. And all at once they melted, and all the ice turned to tears that welled up in her bright eyes. She burst into tears, and Felfe felt a yank on his heartstrings that he had made his own mother cry, the poor woman who had done so much to raise him on her own. She seemed so fragile, so...

She launched herself at him, arms outstretched, and he was tackled and thoroughly hugged by the crying mess that was Mother. She was saying something, over and over, but he couldn't quite hear it with the lack of oxygen going to his brain. She gave him one last squeeze and he thought he was going to pass out, little black flecks going across his vision. Then she let him go.

Tearfully she said, "Felfe, all you had to do was tell Mommy." Her sobs were, thankfully, becoming sniffles. "I... I did always wonder. But you never said anything - you w-were always saying you wanted to be strong like the other boys. I th-thought it would crush your little hopes if I said anything."

"Mother," Felfe sighed, now very embarrassed but extremely relieved. "I didn't want you to know. I know you... really wanted me to have a-a... a wife. And kids." Felfe pronouncing the word 'wife' was exceedingly odd to all parties involved.

Kain once again stepped up as support, placing an arm around Felfe's slender shoulders to stabilize him. All this did, however, was make Felfe redden further, now that his mother really knew about them.

"Oh, honey!" Mother looked on the verge of performing another death squeeze, wavering smile battling tears. "I just wanted you to be happy. And you two love each other - a mother always knows."

Felfe stood there, stunned. "Wha... what about grandkids? And weddings, and... all of that?"

"Well you can still have a wedding, silly!" She insisted stubbornly. "And as for grandkids..." She looked to Kain pensively, and then her eyes widened. "Oh, Felfe, those blood-elves have so many problems with abandoned children. Oh, think of all those poor little blood-elf babies, all alone, picked up by the orphanages...! Tell me you'll adopt at least four!"

The air was awkward and tense.

No one said anything.

And then Kain laughed, heartily and without holding back. He drew Felfe towards him, whispered something, and then gestured to Seriadne for them to walk together. The three amiably walked and talked of children, white weddings, and the beautiful Undercity mansion styled by blood-elves. Felfe began to relax as Kain and Seriadne enthusiastically discussed tailoring, and all was remarkably well in the World.

* * *

As they were ready to depart, once again standing outside the Dolanaar inn, Felfe couldn't imagine how anything could have turned out better. Mother was very happy that her little Felfe had found someone to love, and she was positively ecstatic at the idea of adorable blood-elf babies. Kain seemed very satisfied with Mother's conclusions, and it was all much easier than the MORMRIS would have you think.

"Now, are you still adventuring?" Mother asked him, smile tugging at her lips. "You always said you wanted to be one of those strong, legendary rogues."

He was about to lie to her - he'd been doing it for years, hadn't he? - but after that pleasant afternoon, after telling her about Kain... he couldn't shatter the honesty that had grown between them. "It isn't... um, I don't think I really can." He took a careful breath. "I just don't have what it takes to be a great adventurer."

She suddenly became very serious, and she took him by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "Felfe, hasn't Mommy always said you can do anything?"

"I'm just not sure," Felfe cringed, and he felt the panic rising again. "I don't think I'm tough enough to keep going. To keep questing."

"Oh, honey." Mother released him but stood there with a pained look on her face. "I know you have what it takes. Your father - "

Silence. The MORMRIS would have its day after all.

"My... father?" Felfe prompted cautiously, trying to still his fast-beating heart. She had never said anything about a father to him. The absence of one was enough to tell him it wasn't something she wanted to talk about.

Mother hesitated visibly, gathered herself, and told him. "Your father was an Arena Grandmaster. He was one of the most feared rogues in PVP. And you're so much like him, Felfe. You just can't see it."

"He... what?" Felfe took steadying breaths, his world changing. "And what happened to him? Why didn't you tell me before?" He was overstretching, he knew it, but abruptly he had to know. She had told him that little - maybe she would tell him everything.

"Your father..." her eyes went watery, and she fanned herself with a hand. "He left before he knew about you. Before I knew about you. He said he had some kind of ultimate quest, some mission, and he didn't know when or if he would return."

Kain drew Felfe to him as the night-elf shivered.

"I was heartbroken," Mother attempted a diversionary smile, but it just left her looking sad. "But I told him I never wanted to hold him back from anything. He left that day, and I waved goodbye. I used to hope he would come back, walk into the inn one day looking for me. But I don't think that anymore."

Felfe temporarily left Kain's comfort to wrap his arms around his mother, wishing he could take her suffering upon himself. "I love you, Mother."

She sniffled, but she managed a smile for him. "Mommy loves you, too."

"Well, don't worry!" Felfe drew back from her and felt something exciting rushing through his veins, something almost heroic. "I'm going to do it. Adventuring, I mean. If father was that great a rogue, then... maybe I've just been missing something all this time. It's..."

"PVP," Kain thought aloud. "So that's the answer."

"That's right!" Felfe looked to Kain wonderingly. "If my father was an Arena Grandmaster, then maybe all this time I should have been levelling up through the battlegrounds, not by questing. It all makes sense - "

Mother was still wiping tears from her face.

"Oh, Mother." He hastened back to her, taking her hand in his. "You know, no matter how strong I get, how far I go, I'll always come back to see you."

Unfortunately, this made her burst into tears again, but at least they were happy ones this time.

* * *

Alyane sat elegantly on the sofa, an arm around Silya's waist, completely content. They were watching the MORMRIS again, a favorite pasttime of the younger elf. Silya just loved all of the storylines, and could recite them from memory. Alyane had never thought herself fond of the drivel, but for some reason, when she watched it with Silya it became something more. Melodramatic became enthralling and realistic. Corny became laughable again. Sappy romance became heart-warming.

Right now, Daven and Erick - two male night-elves - were squaring off in the arena. Both of their team members had fallen, and this match would decide two things. It would decide the winner of the arena season, and it would also decide which of them would gain the adoration of Rinnea, the most beautiful blood-elf female with brown hair in the series. Silya was watching raptly, Alyane only a tad less intent.

A tense ten minutes followed, filled with monologuing in between dashes of actual arena fighting. Eventually Daven succeeded in striking the killing blow, gaining his team the title and himself the girl. For now...

Alyane looked to Silya, amused at the pure excitement in those green eyes. "Did you enjoy all the action?"

"Oh, it's so amazing!" Silya gushed predictably. "I love it when they do the arena episodes. I mean, it's so much more intense than the regular ones."

"Do you think," Alyane hesitated, fell contemplative.

"Think what?" Silya prodded, quite literally as she poked the warlock in the side.

Alyane had gotten quite used to that, so she only gave one of her enigmatic smiles and finished, "Do you think we could have an arena team?"

Silya was stunned, which boded well for PVP in general. "A 2v2 team? Us?"

Alyane was about to dismiss the idea, seeing how incredulous her partner was, when the blonde suddenly pounced her, all kisses and abounding energy.

"I thought you'd - mm - never ask!" Silya said breathlessly between kisses. "Oh, Alyane, tell me you weren't kidding!"

"I would never - " Kiss. "Joke about something - " Longer kiss. "of this magnitude."

Silya finally sat back, ceasing her assault but still as hyperactive. "This is so awesome! We're really gonna do it!"

* * *

"You know, Liam... you are showing much improvement as of late." Nahir was all business again, marking stuff on his notepad with his scritchy quill pen. "I thought that perhaps you merit a reward of some kind."

"I'm listening," Liam said playfully, watching his mentor attentively. Sure, he had been doing better. He hardly ever thought about his past unless they were discussing it. Not like he used to brood over it and all that.

"There are few options for the patients here," Nahir continued in monotone. "But I think I may have found one that suits you. It would allow you an outlet for pent-up aggression and general stress while having appropriate boundaries in place."

"C'mon, Nahir." The hunter stretched like his pet panther and settled back in his cushion with a wide grin. "Stop teasing and tell me!"

"An arena team," the angelic priest said carefully. "If you prove yourself able to treat it maturely."

"An arena team!" Liam was standing in the space of a moment, lit up like Orgrimmar on New Years. "You serious? With who?"

"A 2v2 team," Nahir said, showing just a hint of amusement. "With myself as your partner."

* * *

Yuren stood in the kitchen, wearing a fluffy apron for reasons unknown even to him. He had no fondness for cutesy things, but it wasn't like anyone was going to see. And he wouldn't admit it, but it felt kind of nice to wear. Relaxing, maybe.

He was leaning against the counter, waiting for the chocolate cookies to bake. The undead warrior was clearly impatient, tapping a boot against the floor with arms folded. The chocolate cookies were rumored to 'make you feel a little better', and he figured it was worth a shot. He had been more himself last night, since Alyane brought out the worst in him, but she had her own business to attend to now.

A thought popped into his head like a pygmy asking to be whalloped. But he spared it, and agreed with its logic. Yes, Starfire esspresso _did _sound like a good accompaniment to chocolate cookies. He began getting out the few ingredients and set a pot on. The fire elementals were cooperative today - perhaps they sensed his mood and decided not to try him.

Ten minutes later, he had a mug of esspresso and chocolate cookies on a large decorative plate. Blood-elf work, of course, with little swirlies of gold around the edge. The mug wasn't nearly as impressive, with its now blasphemous picture of Kael'thas and accompanying words, 'I worked for Kael'thas and all I got was this crappy mug'. Yes, another part of the golden days that he had yet to throw away.

Sure, he hated the guy as much as anybody now. But why waste a perfectly good mug?

About to exit the kitchen, Yuren jumped and nearly spilled his esspresso as the door opened by itself. He was about to credit blood-elf magic - the mansion had all sorts of unhelpful automated magic - when he saw there was a person in the doorway, physically holding the door open.

"Hey, Yuren."

The undead hastily set down his plate of cookies and his mug. It was Lance. And frankly, Yuren wasn't sure how he felt about this sudden intrusion into his perfectly good afternoon of cookie-baking and esspresso-sipping.

"Hello, Lance." Yuren said amiably.

Lance appeared quite anxious at the pleasant tone Yuren had used. "I... thought you might be a little upset. Are you all right?"

"Why would you think that?" the warrior asked airily, and offered the paladin a cookie. "I am quite fine. Have a cookie."

"Okay, now I know something's really wrong." Lance eyed him with great concern, but took the cookie nevertheless. It retreated, with his arm, to his side. Uneaten.

"Nothing's wrong." Yuren said neutrally. "I was just making some cookies, nothing out of the ordinary."

"You're too nice," Lance pointed out accusingly. "This isn't like you. Is this like that one MORMRIS movie, 'The Howling Fjord Wives'?"

"I'm not a gnome-made robot, if that's what you're asking." Yuren huffed. "Idiot."

"Hey, there!" Lance poked him in the shoulder, suddenly brightening. "That was more like you."

"No, really?" Yuren hissed and batted away the poking finger. "Honestly, can't you keep your _holy _hands to yourself?"

"It's you! It's really you!" Lance said melodramatically, and seized the undead in a crushing bear hug of which he was infamous. "I missed you, you sarcastic, acidic, wonderful man!"

"What the - " Yuren struggled to get out of the paladin's hold. "Lance - gah! - let me _go_ - "

"Never!" Lance protested, again melodramatically. His bear hug tightened perceivably, and Yuren let out an undignified squeak that signaled the air rushing out of him. At the odd sound, Lance got the idea and let him off, though looking a tad disappointed that he had to.

"You - " pant. "stupid - " gasp. "paladin!" Yuren's chest heaved like a tauren who had just given birth. "Were you trying to kill me, or what?"

"Actually, I just missed you." Lance gave a sheepish shrug. "You're all I've got, Yuren."

"Now you're really being ridiculous," the undead snapped. "Just why are you here? Are you just _dropping in _before you rush back to your precious raiding guild?"

"Well, kinda, but - wait, hear me out!" Lance protested as Yuren started shoving him out the door. "Listen, I want to be around you all the time, but my guild needs me! So I thought we could do something else, something where we could work together and spend time together and -"

"_Lance,_" Yuren said in exasperation. "Get to the point."

"I want to have an arena team!" Lance burst out, hands waving spastically. "With you! And me! 2v2!"

Yuren deadpanned. "You have _got _to be kidding me."

* * *

**Aaaaand everyone's freaking out about arena teams. What else is new?**


	13. Chapter 13

Back at school now, if you couldn't tell by the lack of updates. HrrrRRRrrrm.

**Reviewers:**

TheHomicidalManiac777 - Yes, my arena theme worked! Oh, I know right? Blood-elves just seem like they'd have those sorts of problems. For whatever reason - ha - blood-elf women don't look like the mothering type. And thank you for the cookie!

Verd - I will certainly take that idea. Oh, the embarrassments waiting for Yuren...

PencilsLovePaper - Your ego? With those kinda reviews, it's a wonder mine hasn't outgrown my house by now. I'm so glad you liked the last chapter! Gah, I meant to put Temarr in there somewhere but I think he got lost - too many characters, goodness.

It's totally awesome that you made the connection with the arena business and the rogue awesomeness that's in the future (and yes, I had planned all of that from the start, it just took WAY long to get here).

MischeviousMagic - I know, I hate those quiz pages, too. Yes, I think Alyane and Yuren are more similar than they know. Perhaps arenas will show that - oops, I'm spoiling it.

I'm sure we've all had those days when we pvped like maniacs, I know I did. And then, sadly, classes change and you're not sure where you stand anymore. (I used to arena a lot on my rogue, good times!)

Copycat1773 - What is this story, if not chaos? Heheh. I'll have to figure out exactly what to do to Liam...

Colore et confits - Indeed - I remember the time(s) when everyone in my guild would suddenly start freaking out about arena. Yeesh. Heheheh. Personally I've never been brave enough to go Subtlety... always been a Combat rogue (laaaame but easy).

Crystal-chan - You have a good point! I don't believe I ever referenced the whole 'separate factions can't talk to each other' thing. My reason for that is, of course, that we couldn't have a story like this if they couldn't communicate. I like to bend (or ignore) certain rules of the game in my writing, mostly faction interaction, for the sake of the story.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**

* * *

**

Wrenn arrived at the Argent Tournament grounds and dismounted his windrider, taking in the sights like a Barrens orc arriving in Orgrimmar for the first time. The tents, the jousting arenas, the sparkle that seemed to permeate every inch of the place - or maybe that was just him. The place was, dare he say it, kinda magical. And he was actually going to work for Confessor Paletress! Even if just as a secretary, that was still an honor.

He realized he was just standing there as some kind of unicorn cantered past with a night-elf on its back. Weird. He took the map his mentor had given him out of his pack and examined it. The Argent Pavilion, his destination, was directly to his right and about a hundred feet. He gave a shrug and headed towards it, dodging a few mounted champions who didn't seem to look where they were going.

Reaching the Pavilion a minute later, he entered to hear a commanding female voice. She - whoever she was, and he had a good guess - was giving a sermon on the Light, hope, and determination. It was fairly impressive, and he had to get a hold of himself and creep around the corner until he was looking directly at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He was willing to bet this was Paletress - the straight blonde hair topped with an immaculate white chapeau, the Argent tabard, the lack of pants, the thigh-high boots. Showing that much skin above the thigh should have been indecent, and it wasn't like the Confessor's rank or devotion to the Light made it any easier to accept. But no one was going to tell her to do anything about it, that was for sure.

Banishing, with fervency, his heretical thoughts, Wrenn quietly sat down in the pews. He didn't really hear any of the sermon for the next few moments until he steeled himself and focused his eyes on her chapeau. Not her face, not her thighs, her chapeau.

"_By feeling and understanding compassion in enemy and ally alike, you reaffirm your connection with the world._

_"Acting on these tenets, these virtues, help make the world a place we all can appreciate. A world of honor and justice._

_"Think on my words, friends. In the darkness that surrounds us all, the Light is needed more than ever._

_"I'll be behind the confessional screen if anyone wishes to speak with me. Any doubts, any worries, any uncertainties I will happily soothe._ "

Confessional? He felt a little uncomfortable in his skin. Should he go confess to looking at her thighs? It had only been for a few moments, and he couldn't help himself. Perhaps he ought to. No! He was her secretary - or would be, soon. Besides, he had not fallen victim to any ill-conceived thoughts, so he would let the Light forgive him the thigh-looking. For now.

* * *

Felfe shifted nervously on his feet as they stood beside the battleground portal. It showed the beautiful Silverwing Sentinels base, its wooden floors as if carved from a giant tree - heresy to night-elves, of course, but Felfe still thought it looked like that. He turned back to Kain a last time and tried for a forced smile.

"You'll do fine, Felfe." The blood-elf placed his strong hands on the smaller elf's shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. "It's just capture-the-flag, remember?"

That gave Felfe a little more hope, and he stood up on his tiptoes to give Kain a brief kiss. Withdrawing, he saluted clumsily and entered the portal, fading away into thin air.

Kain stood there shaking his head, not moving from that spot for a few moments, and then turned to attend to his own business. Felfe would be fine - it was just a battleground, after all. The night-elf could keep himself out of trouble for a span of twenty-five minutes, surely.

* * *

Yuren was tapping his feet impatiently as Lance stood beside the arena organizer, a goblin female with far too many piercings. It figured. No, not the goblin, Lance! Yuren had known that as soon as he had agreed - reluctantly, he might add - the paladin would whisk him away to the unclean Dalaran sewers, a place he usually stayed far away from.

It was the abhorrent, complete lack of effort to keep the place clean that irked him. Yes, it was a sewer. But how could anyone set up an arena hub and then not even spiff the place up? Everywhere was covered in grime, sludge, and plenty of other things he wouldn't name. There were even rats running around underfoot. HURK.

"... what do you think? Yuren?"

Damn. The paladin was _talking _again. He supposed he should have been paying attention, but he only gave a shrug. Even if he had been listening, that was the appropriate reaction to most of what Lance said. Unfortunately, this time seemed be one of those rarities where a shrug was not acceptable.

"Yuren, were you even listening?" Lance heaved a sigh and then walked straight over to the undead warrior. "This arena thing means a lot to me. Come on, help me think of a good name!"

"How about, 'The Knights Who Say Nothing'. And don't drag their undead friends to abominable places like this." Yuren folded his arms and told himself he wasn't pouting. Which he wasn't.

"Oh, is that what it is?" Lance smacked himself on the forehead. "Right, I wasn't thinking. Shall we go to Tanaris? You like Tanaris, don't you?"

"I don't mind it," Yuren mumbled unappreciatively, as the damage had already been done.

As they walked out, Lance was talking about names again. Yuren tuned him out for the most part, but he did catch 'Palading' and hastily shut that one down. Pala_don't_.

* * *

Felfe was running crazedly, dodging around the oversized tree stumps in the No Man's Land that was the middle of Warsong Gulch when he spotted it. A very apathetic undead warlock was singing a human priest from afar, with that far-off look on his face that meant he wasn't really paying any attention. Could it be...

"Temarr!" Felfe shouted, and headed towards the warlock.

Temarr - it was him, he could tell as he got closer - froze and then began looking around, panicked. "Wh-where are you? Who are you?"

Felfe unstealthed and sheepishly bowed a few times. "Oh, T-Temarr, I'm so sorry! I forgot I was stealthed."

"Ah, it's Felfe." Temarr said in relief, as if to himself. "I wonder what you're doing here."

His odd manner of speaking caught Felfe off guard, and he hastily replied, "Oh, n-nothing. Just trying to get some experience, you know."

"That is life, isn't it?" Temarr looked away with dream-ridden eyes. "Experience for experience's sake, that is life." He gave a heavy sigh, full of all the ills of the world.

"Are you okay?" Felfe asked cautiously, seeing the undead's preoccupation.

"Oh!" Temarr snapped back to the present in time to send his voidwalker to deal with a gnome mage. "Right, yes, I'm fine. How are you?"

This conversation didn't seem to be working out, so Felfe just did his best to politely answer and then excused himself to pick off a female blood-elf priest. He felt bad stabbing her in the back like that, but he always tried to remind himself that it was just PVP, and she had chosen to be in here just like him. In a way, she had probably expected it.

* * *

"Well, how about we call it 'Before and After'?" Yuren snapped. "After _the Scourge_."

"Yuren, calm down. I was just joking." Lance attempted to take the skeletal hand in his but Yuren slapped him away agitatedly. "Yuren, how could you be anything like Guinevere? That doesn't even make sense."

"Well apparently, Mr. Lancelot, you thought that made a lot of sense. Why else would you suggest it?" The nerve. Lance had actually wanted to name them 'of the Cart' after that old legend regarding Sir Lancelot. Which would make Yuren... what? Yeah, he was thinking the adulterous queen in said legend. Not buying it.

No, literally, not buying it. It was his hard-earned gold that was paying for most of the arena charter, after all. If he thought about it, he really deserved to have all the say in naming it. Not that he had any good ideas anyway... but still. Damned paladin.

"Give me that," he said, and took the charter from Lance's confused hands.

* * *

Paletress showed him into one of the upstairs rooms of the Pavilion, where he was seated in a very decent armchair. The room was decorated minimally with the two chairs, a low table, and a single candle. If the chair had been less comfortable, he might have thought he was being interrogated. The Confessor seated herself in the adjacent armchair but did not visibly relax, her back arrow-straight and her face composed as the wall behind her. Wrenn tried to relax and gave her his brightest, most devoted smile.

She blanched and took out an official looking scroll. "So, you must be Wrenn. I, hm, heard about the little mistake that landed you in the Bluebell Institute. Regrettable."

Wrenn thought it was a little callous of her to call it merely 'regrettable', but he only nodded and toned his smile down a little.

"But I have heard also that you are very dedicated to the Light. Is this true?" She tapped her index finger to her lips pensively and he saw her nails were the red of the Blood Knights.

"Yes, ah... milady." He cringed, unsure how he should have addressed her.

She paused slightly and raised her eyes from the scroll. They scanned him, sharp as lances, and he felt uneasy in his skin. Then she returned her gaze to the scroll.

"Though you are of the Horde, you are also a paladin and my brother under the Light." She pursed her lips and his eyes were drawn to them before he could stop himself. "Therefore, seeing your situation - newly freed and displaced - I decided to bring you here."

He nodded again.

"You seem..." She looked him over appraising once more. "Worthy."

He wasn't sure how to take that, so he quietly thanked her and proceeded to sit there, wordless.

"Yes. Yes, indeed." Her tone of voice was starting to intimidate him a little, but he dismissed that as only natural, since she was the Confessor. "I will take you... As my secretary." The strategic hesitation brought displeasing fears toward the surface before he pushed them away again.

"As the Light wills," He agreed ceremonially.

* * *

'Dead and Loving It' walked into the Nagrand arena to a significant lack of applause. Not that anyone watched arena matches, anyway, but the silence was unnerving to some newbies.

Lance gave a shrug, still miffed over the arena name which he insisted had nothing to do with him, which of course it didn't. He had been trying to call them 'Defenders of the Light' or something just as inane. Not that his name was creative, either, but at least it wasn't paladin-y. Hmph.

"You see anyone?" Lance asked, a cautious air to him as he scanned their surroundings. Nothing but whirling dust and the sand underfoot.

"Rogues or druids, maybe a mage... could be hiding behind a column, too." Yuren engaged and was all business, shifting his stance to account for a possible ambush. "Plan?"

"I don't know, I've never arena'd before." Lance admitted, in a low, quiet voice so he wouldn't betray his weakness to the enemy. "I thought you could show me the ropes."

"Yeah, not so much." Yuren growled, but was distracted by a subtle shifting sound of padded feet on sand. "There's a rogue somewhere."

Lance consecrated the ground but found nothing. That left them sitting - well, standing - in the middle of the light-soaked patch of ground with no further leads. The paladin had the nerve to whistle aimlessly as his spell began to fade, and Yuren whapped him on the head and told him to stay vigilant.

"The attack could come at any moment, you idiot!" the warrior fumed, wondering how in the World he had ended up with such a dense paladin as his... whatever he was.

* * *

"I'mgonnadie I'mgonnadie I'mgonnadie-" Felfe dodged a shadowbolt and kept sprinting, pushing himself to his limit.

The Silverwing stronghold was in sight, just yards away. Enemies closing in. Spells thrown. A troll hunter to his right was signaling his bear to attack. Why was it always bears! A few heals got thrown his way and he crossed the threshold into the base, sprint fading from him. Hoping for a miracle, he ran desperately towards the small alcove in the base and found... sprint boots!

He didn't even have the energy to issue a war cry - as if he knew any - when the boots issued new speed to him, surging through his legs and practically pushing him through the base and to the spot where the Alliance flag waved majestically in an imagined breeze. So close.

A druid rooted him, and he panicked, turning to gouge an oncoming warrior. Cold sweat trickled down into his light armor and he didn't have time to wince. He was hit with a fireblast that singed his eyebrows and suddenly the roots retreated and he ran.

He ran toward the shimmering blue flag with reckless abandon, ignoring the battles going on around him. By the sounds of it, the Alliance had caught up with the Horde who had been trailing him, because none of them had gotten to the Alliance flag and he was almost there.

So close!

A blast of light engulfed him and his fellow Alliance started to cheer, sheathing their weapons and giving their enemies sympathetic pats of the back. Or sometimes not. But they were cheering - for him - and Felfe had never felt so... right.

* * *

It was the fifth match Lance and Yuren had played, and things weren't going that well. They had won two and lost two, and this one didn't seem to be a good one. The resto druid was LoS-ing them around the columns of the Nagrand arena - for some reason, most of their matches took place there - and while the death knight rushed Lance to put a stop to his periodic healing. Yuren was left to chase after the ridiculous-looking tree that was running around the column, shouting profanities.

He finally caught up only to be rooted in place, snarling. PVP tended to piss him off, mostly because, for all his tough exterior, he wasn't all that good at it. Being served his slice of humble cherry pie, which was probably from one of those nasty food vendors, only frustrated him further. So as he waited, trapped in the roots, he tossed more than a few throwing axes at the tree.

They hit with a satisfying thunk, but did little more than annoy the druid.

"Yuren - gaaah!" Lance tried to call out to him but had to bubble and start healing himself. Yuren's roots freed up and he immediately charged the druid and thought that at least Prot wasn't a total loss.

His in-combat charge startled the druid, but the furious warrior took his opportunity and crushed him. The tree crumpled to the ground after a few solid hits, and Yuren resisted the impulse to somehow set fire to its remains. He was capable of making a mean campfire.

He heard some clashes and clangs that indicated there was still a battle taking place in the background. Right, the paladin. With a sigh, Yuren intervened in the battle Lance was currently losing.

"You owe me for this!" he yelled, hacking away at the death knight with a distinct lack of interest. The death knight seemed offended by the words, and the next thing he knew, Yuren was suffering from a plague of epic proportions.

Swaying, he stepped back and fell to his knees, the disease stealing his strength as surely as a rogue stealing junk that no one would ever want from an npc. Dizzy, he barely heard the resulting shout from Lance, something about revenge. Oh, Lance. The man took these arena matches too seriously.

It felt like an hour later, but it must have been only a few minutes that Yuren spent lying on the ground on his back, at something like 104 health by the time the disease faded away. Regretting his lack of bandages, he just lay there like a sack of Mulgore sweet potatoes. Too weak to sit up, his health slowly trickling back, he was surprised when he saw Lance leaning over him.

"We... won?" Yuren attempted to say, but it came out as a dramatic croak. Not very manly.

Lance apparently took his partner's weakness as an excuse to gather him in his arms like the undead man was dying - har - and said, "We won, Yuren. But I don't want you to take risks like that. That plague could have... could have..."

"Oh, stop it, you dolt." Yuren managed to sit up a little in Lance's hold, looking him in the eyes for once. "I'm not dying, I'm recovering my health." He tried to get ahold of his stubbornness, but he was weary and it just wasn't happening.

He saw Lance moving in and raised a hand weakly to stop him but it only pressed lightly against the paladin's tabard as warm lips met his. Yuren used his little strength to mumble some sort of protest, but it was muffled and then consumed by the kiss. Lance kissed him slowly and gently, and it was a different sort than his usual stolen kisses, which were usually sloppy due to circumstance. The undead man had thought Lance was just a sloppy kisser, but...

Lance withdrew and planted a last, careful kiss on Yuren's cheek. "I'm charging a kiss every time I rescue you, princess."

Yuren gagged and was thoroughly unamused with the man's laughter. Stupid, bloody paladin! Insisting he required payment for something as simple as saving a teammate. That was just PVP. That was the whole arena dynamic! Why, if Lance decided to kiss him _every _time he so much as healed his partner...

"Lance, you can't do that!" The warrior climbed to his feet, strength renewed and quite indignant. "The way you're talking, you'd be... _exacting payment_... every single game!"

Lance's playful smile was warning enough as he drew close to the now standing warrior. Yuren took a step back but the paladin was faster, cornering him against the column he could have sworn wasn't anywhere near him a moment ago. Hands to each side of his head somehow kept him from escaping, so Yuren just went with that and focused the full wrath of his glare at his partner's completely carefree visage.

"Well excuuuuse me, Princess."

Yuren's face made a very interesting expression of disgust. "I'm going to _kill_ you."

"Oh, I think I might be able to change your mind." Lance hinted, and at least he had the decency not to wink.

At that moment, the death knight on the ground several yards away let out a groan. "Can you guys, like, do that somewhere else? Or at least finish me off so we can end the match."

* * *

"So this is it? We're really doing this?" Liam looked over at his mentor like he was level ten again and getting his first pet raptor. They were standing in the Dalaran sewers, about to sign a 2v2 charter for a team that was unfortunately titled 'Bluebells'. Apparently the Bluebell Institute regulated the team names, so they were stuck with it. Although it was ironically close to Blue-

"-bawls his eyes out if he doesn't get the right name," said a nearby tauren to one of her 5v5 partners, evidently annoyed with another of her whiny teammates. Liam could sympathize.

"Liam," Nahir called quietly, and the hunter looked back over at him to see that they were leaving.

"It's done?" There was a spring in his step as he caught up with the priest.

"Yes," Nahir said simply, and he looked pensive as they walked out of the sewers. "When we return to Silvermoon, would you like to see your cat?"

"Shiya'mal? Really?" Liam was about to jump up and down like a little gnome girl. "We can go to the stables?"

"As long as I'm with you," Nahir said patiently, and the hint of a smile dawned at his lips. "I know how much he means to you."

Liam felt like he was about to tear up for some reason, but he only sniffed and said, "Yeah, means a lot to me."

* * *

**Sorry again for the late update... **


	14. Chapter 14

Believe it or not, I am on a schedule now. Yes, the end is in sight! I plan to be completely finished with FWBF (and thus, the final installment of the series) by March 19th. I have twelve chapters to go - not including this one - and the series will be finished. Sooo... Twelve chapters, twenty-four days! Luckily I have over a week of Spring Break soon.

**Reviewers:**

**PencilsLovePaper **- Oh my, didn't mean to cause confusion with the 'unicorn' I mentioned; It was supposed to be a Quel'dorei Steed (which looks like a unicorn), a reward purchasable from the Silver Covenant at the Tournament.

As for whose fault it was that Wrenn ended up in the institution, I'd say it was mostly Commander Bachi's, because the paladin girl (she is unnamed) beat up Wrenn pretty badly but Bachi pretended it was Wrenn imagining the whole thing and inflicting the wounds on himself. Probably because the paladin girl doesn't remember when she goes into 'battle trance' (typical), and Bachi never liked Wrenn anyway. So Bachi made the decision to send Wrenn to the institution.

As for Wrenn and Paletress, well... I can't say just yet, only that everything will become clear next chapter.

I'm glad you're so interested in all of the details, I'm impressed! And I will try to have more Temarr in the future.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Wrenn tried to relax in his bed that night, but all he could think about was Paletress and her odd coldness. At first he had thought she didn't find him suitable, but then she had started to look at him like he was some sort of decoration, which he didn't understand at all. She had gone over his job with him, and it seemed very legitimate. He was expected to retrieve her mail - she received copious amounts, as both a high-ranked servant of the Light and a participant in the Argent Tournament.

That Argent Tournament sure liked to spam mail, for whatever reason.

Anyway, he would sort her mail and go through it methodically, placing different categories in different piles. He would then proceed to open all but the most personal of letters - those sorted into the untouchable pile - and reply to them in preset ways described to him by Her Honorable Self. That being finished, he would report to her after she returned from the Tournament each day; it would be a report of the mail he had fetched as well as any memos and messages he had received over the course of the day.

Basically, the word 'secretary' was very apt. He was performing the duties of a clerk slash receptionist, and though it wasn't all that exciting it also wasn't dangerous and held nothing that would tempt him away from serving the Light and Confessor Paletress herself. As he lay there, drifting off to a well-deserved sleep, he thought he had maybe found a good place for himself.

How wrong he was.

* * *

The next morning, Felfe stood at the flagpost at Lumber Mill, looking out across the vast expanse that was Arathi Basin. He could barely make out the little figures squabbling over Blacksmith while a few of them slipped off toward Stables. He took out his shiny BG communicator and mouthed a quick 'inc stables' before his gaze turned to a group of two horde approaching Lumber Mill from the Farm. A warlock and a mage; he thought he could probably take them even without the dwarf hunter heading over from stables.

Oh, the hunter turned to go back to stables, having received the message Felfe had just sent. That left him alone to face the two undead who were drawing close to the flag now, unaware of the threat that lurked in stealth. Felfe's fingers twitched to his scabbards and he silently drew his two daggers.

He sapped the warlock, vanished, and cheap-shotted the mage. After a couple tense seconds he kidney-shotted the mage but the warlock got out of the sap - he was a little higher level than Felfe, and sometimes it didn't work out as it should have. Felfe directed a blind at the warlock and returned to the mage, sheathing his dagger in him for the killing blow.

He turned his attention back to the warlock just in time to gouge him out of blind before he regained use of his physical faculties. He was about to open with a couple more combo points and another kidney shot when he recognized the figure standing before him, stunned.

"Oh my goodness!" He gasped, and immediately made an apologetic bow, or two, to the warlock who was now shrugging off the stun. "Temarr, I'm so sorry!"

"That's all right," the lock said, eyes a mellow yellow. "It happens."

"Umm..." Felfe stalled for time, not sure if he should let Temarr take the Lumber Mill or if he was supposed to just kill him and apologize again. "How are you doing?"

"I like it here," Temarr replied, although it didn't seem like he had heard Felfe correctly. "All this chaos, it calms me down, I guess." And the undead warlock sat down next to the flag, which he hadn't taken, and opened a small tome.

"What's that?" Felfe asked curiously, kneeling down to examine the book better. "_How I Wish I Could Die Again_... sounds, um, light-hearted."

"It's my book," Temarr gave the equivalent of a beam, in his case a watery smile. "I just finished it a couple weeks ago."

Felfe would have liked to know more, but the dwarf hunter was coming back from helping deal with Stables, and his beady little dwarf eyes had sighted Temarr. Felfe was going to have some explaining to do. Thankfully, Temarr glanced over his shoulder to see the dwarf on his way and got to his feet, sketching a hasty bow before he went to hide behind a large rock.

Felfe wasn't sure what the lock intended with this, so he stood by the flag, which was still Alliance-held, and watched as the dwarf arrived, panting under all of his mail.

"What's been goin' on 'ere, rogue?" the hunter huffed, spotting Temarr easily because his staff was poking out from behind the rock. "Yer harborin' Horde scum, are ye?"

Felfe didn't really like the dwarf's attitude, or his ale-drenched breath, so he took a step back and said, "He's not doing any harm."

"Yer in league with 'em, aren't ye!" Apparently this was a very paranoid dwarf. "Why, I ought ter finish ye off right 'ere!"

The dwarf tried to charge at Felfe, but because he wasn't a warrior it was really more of a slow run. Felfe, a little confused at what the dwarf thought he was doing - a duel, maybe? - sidestepped the charge. The dwarf flew by and lost his balance, and since Felfe had been standing pretty close to the cliff's edge this was a very innopportune time to lose one's balance. The dwarf awkwardly tried to skid to a halt but stumbled off the edge and plummeted to the ground far, far below.

Felfe's astonishment, and slight guilt, was interrupted by undead cackling. He looked over at the large rock to see that Temarr appeared to be flailing on the ground behind it, laughing his insubstantial ass off. And Felfe couldn't help smiling a little, too.

* * *

Yuren, yawning, was fixing a pot of Northern Stew when Lance ambled into the mansion's kitchen, rubbing at sleep-ridden eyes. Yuren ignored him and continued stirring, pretending he wasn't still wearing the same shirt he was the day before. They had arena'd until the early hours of the morning, and though it was now midday he wasn't properly armored or properly awake. Lance was similarly clothed, in only a white linen shirt and light pants. Someone who walked in just then might have thought they had been rolling around in a bed together. Yuren recalled the grueling arena matches and thought he might have - almost - preferred that.

"Is that Northern Stew?" Lance inquired. He took a seat on an errant stool that had somehow found its way to the kitchen and yawned.

Yuren stifled his own yawn and said tiredly, "Yes."

"What, no sarcasm?" Lance brightened. "I've finally had an effect on you!"

"The only effect you've had is to make me more violent," Yuren said with a scowl. "I had to defend my lips with my life yesterday."

"And this morning - it was 5:30 when we got back, was it?" Lance looked oddly pleased to share this information. He gave a quiet chuckle, as if remembering something that Yuren wouldn't find funny.

Yuren just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his cooking. The Norhtern Stew was simmering nicely now, but he pretended it was demanding his careful attention. He heard Lance get to his feet but didn't bother turning around to see if the paladin was leaving. Like he cared.

The footsteps paused, and he heard Lance start to say something, then stop, and then, "I'll see you again tonight after the raid. We can do more arenas."

Yuren refused to use the word 'bootycall' so instead he settled for a lukewarm, "Yes, yes. Fine."

Lance seemed to stifle a sigh and then left the kitchen. Yuren continued stirring for a few moments, but once he heard the footsteps fade he glanced over at the closed door, feeling strangely dissatisfied with himself.

* * *

Felfe had helped win most of the Arathi Basin and Warsong Gulch games he had been in by the afternoon, and he had even started to get used to PVP and all of its so-called complexities. But something was accumulating in the pit of his stomach, a bit of loneliness from the two long days filled with PVP and nothing else. He hadn't seen Kain since early morning the day before, and somehow he had thought the other elf would have just... appeared... in between one of the games, just walked up at an opportune time like he always did. It had barely been two days, but he was noticing how much he missed Kain's charm, his kindness. The BGs were a lonely place where few showed any caring at all.

As he stood near the flag at Goldmine, unstealthed, he began to wonder if this place was affecting him. Not so long ago, he would have cringed to think of backstabbing another player. Now, he killed without compunction - it was only a temporary death, in the BGs, but it should have felt the same, shouldn't it?

Despite his moral qualms, however, he stealthed and stunlocked the troll shaman that walked up and quickly finished him without any emotion. The corpse vanished, but he stood there feeling a distinct lack of guilt, wondering if he had been desensitized completely. He hadn't even recognized Temarr that morning until the man was halfway dead. Er, re-dead.

* * *

"C'mon, Yuren!" Lance pleaded, back at the kitchen though it was only late afternoon now. "Just one match? I do have some time!"

Yuren thought it was stupid that 'having time' now meant they had to arena, but he didn't have the energy to argue so he only shrugged. Lance punched the air with a gauntleted fist and started spouting nonsense about how they were 'forming deeper bonds as a team' and 'developing team coordination'.

"Let's just go," Yuren huffed, and they queued.

A few minutes later, they were transported to the Dalaran sewers arena. After the mandatory wait time, their platform ascended to the arena itself and they faced their opponents. Yuren blinked and took a step back, actually looking over at Lance to confirm what he was seeing.

"Yuren? Lance?"

Silya, with Alyane at her side, gaped at them like it wasn't possible they could be there. Alyane hastily stashed her succubus, seeing how ineffective it would be against them, and called out her imp, Hornby. Hornby stuck out his little imp tongue at them and did an incredibly awkward-looking hip thrust.

There were a few moments of silence, and then Lance looked back at Yuren and shrugged. "Well, all's fair in BGs and arena."

* * *

"Felfe, he doesn't hate you." Temarr sat beside him in the Goldmine, both of them ignoring the heated skirmish that was going on by the flag outside. "Hate is a strong emotion."

"W-well, why shouldn't he?" Felfe sobbed into the spare cloak Temarr had handed him a moment ago. "I'm just, I'm just a-a-a_bandoning _him so I can g-get stronger. Just like my f-father!"

"Your father?" Temarr echoed, still extraordinarily calm. "What does your father have to do with this?"

Felfe explained the whole father-leaving-mother-to-become-a-pvp-god situation, adding that no one had seen his father since. Temarr nodded slowly, absorbing the information like one would a fine Dalaran wine.

"Yes, that does sound similar," the warlock said dreamily. "What an interesting mirror life is..."

"Temarr, that d-doesn't make me f-f-feel better!" Felfe broke into new tears, his eyes stinging from overuse. "What should I do?"

"Well, you could go visit Kain." Temarr provided helpfully, though he seemed less interested now that the dramatic story was over. "Then you wouldn't feel like you were abandoning him."

Felfe turned this idea over in his head and winced. "It's really that simple, isn't it."

"You humans never fail to surprise me," Temarr mused aloud.

* * *

It was halfway through the battle, roughly, when Yuren finally chased down Silya, who was giggling and running away from him while his charge was on cooldown. She kept iceblocking him when he came close, and he was actually starting to lose some health to her occasional frostbolts. It was clear by her laughter, however, that she wasn't taking the battle seriously, which gave him a little hope.

Lance, on the other hand, was busy dodging imp bolts while he tried to close in on Alyane, who kept using her multiple fears to drive him away. The DoTs were stacking up on him every time Yuren glanced over there, and he was starting to think the paladin wouldn't last much longer.

All at once, Lance bubbled and started healing - not himself, but Yuren. The warrior panicked for a second as two smirking blood-elf women directed their spells at him, but the knowledge that he had some support made him sigh and perform a heroic leap right toward the both of them, following up with a shockwave to stun both targets simultaneously.

It was cake from there, as he had to do little more than thunderclap and execute the already low health victims. Alyane fell first, followed by Silya in a highly theatrical fashion. When the battle ended, both females had collapsed onto each other, with the result that they lay there laughing and trading conspiratorial whispers after the battle.

Lance ran over to him and seized him around the waist in a crushing hug, bouncing them both up and down like the two of them were little kids. "We won, we won!"

"That's mature, Lance." Yuren grumbled, but secretly he felt somehow vindicated, having trounced the Lady Silya who he had so often had to keep tabs on for her brother. Not to mention the succubus herself, Alyane, who he had wanted to silence more than once on occasion.

"Oh, admit it, you had fun!" Lance prodded, and then his face took on a more devious - for him - expression. "You know I definitely saved us both back there with my bubble-heals."

"Don't you even - we _know _them, Lance." Yuren protested as the paladin came closer, waggling his golden eyebrows suggestively. "_Lance_."

"I love it when you say my name like that," Lance whispered hotly into his ear, drawing away with a visible satisfaction as Yuren squirmed.

"Not the time or place," the warrior growled, and stalked away yelling for a referee to get his ass down there and close up the match already.

* * *

**This seemed like a short chapter for some reason. Well, more coming soon!**


	15. Chapter 15

Yep, I'm making good time. I'm trying to get the story finished as soon as possible without going so fast that I sacrifice quality (har, what quality?).

**Reviewers:**

TheHomicidalManiac777 - Ah yes, I think by 'human' Temarr was thinking more of 'alive beings'. As in, something that isn't undead like him. And you're right, Yuren has some serious denial issues.

MischeviousMagic - Yes, someone liked the Lancelot refs! I'm taking Medieval Lit right now and it's creeping into my writing. Awww, thanks for all the compliments! I really appreciate that you took the time to mention all those characters. I'm surprised that someone's interested in Kain's whereabouts, though; usually everyone is more curious about Lance/Yuren or Temarr lately.

PencilsLovePaper - Yeah, Wrenn has to deal with all the weird mail Paletress gets. Fwahaha, multiple class disorder! That's a good one. And Yuren was thinking of 'bootycall' because Lance said he would see him late at night (in a way, if someone calls you late at night for something sexual it's sometimes called a bootycall). Basically, Yuren is feeling like Lance is using him; only instead of sex it's arenas. Yeah, like HomicidalManiac wondered too, Temarr is talking of alive humanoids in general. Don't feel bad about your review length; I assure you, I love reading all of your comments!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**

* * *

**

It had been a few days since Wrenn had started work as the Confessor's secretary, and he was finally getting used to the routine. Mail check in the mornings, mail sorting and answering in the afternoon, presentation of important mail and memos in the evening. She also had him dusting and straightening up her chambers during the day, as she had little time off from preaching and participating in the tournament to do so herself. The only time he saw her was in the late evenings when she would return and he would give his report.

There had been little mail of interest lately, so his reports had been short and without comment. He almost hoped something would happen, something to punctuate his rather lackluster daily routine. But inside he knew he would rather have this sort of peaceful life than one marred by dramatic events. It was a quiet job, but it suited his devotion to the Light.

He was tidying up around Paletress's rooms that evening, dusting tables, when he noticed how much dust there was on her bookshelves. That was odd, didn't she read all of those 'holy tomes' in the evenings? She had mentioned once or twice how she liked a nice, long read after her bath. And yet there was a thick layer of dust, as if the shelves had been neglected.

Well, whatever she said about her reading frequency, she clearly hadn't been taking care of these shelves. The secretary in him activated and he started to dust the shelves, subtly moving aside some of the books to get every bit of dust. Suddenly his hand slipped as the whole inset of shelves moved. They slid to the side, revealing a bookcase behind the inset bookcase.

Stunned, Wrenn just stood there for a moment. And then he reached out to touch the second bookcase, wondering if he had been dusting too long and was having some sort of daydream. Nope, the second bookcase seemed solid enough. He started to scan the titles on the spines and did a double-take.

_Northern Exposure_? _Blue Moon_? _Uncharted Territory_? What kind of names were those? And then there were more, ones with names he could hardly make sense of. _The Draenei Anchorite and His Virgin Human Priestess_. _Bound By His Roots_. _Gurubashi Arena, Sacrificial Maiden_. What in the world was this odd collection about? There were a lot of 'maidens', 'virgins', and similar titles, so he thought maybe it was more Argent literature.

Then he opened _Gurubashi Arena, Sacrificial Maiden _to a random middle page and found some things he really hadn't needed to read.

_She cried out in agony and pleasure as the evidence of his lust drove hard into her moist sex, breaking the sacred barrier deep within her. Her back arched against the firm sand-covered floor of the arena as he continually thrust into her, her reddened lips parting as she gasped and writhed against him. The arena chest lay untended and ignored nearby as the arena echoed with their primal grunts and sighs, and any who would have challenged them for the chest stayed silent in the shadows, savoring the erotic sights before them._

_'Ah! _Ah!_' Her voice was breathy and strained as he pushed into her again and again, whiting out her vision with each -_

"Wrenn."

Oh, _fu _- er, ah... This was bad. Wrenn turned slowly, the book still open in his hands, completely accepting the fact that he would have to explain himself to her. Surely this collection of erotic literature had been planted, very skillfully, behind her own bookshelf for reasons unknown to him. Surely, some foe of hers had planted it here to turn suspicion on her. Surely...

"Wrenn, what are you reading?" She drew close to him, intimidatingly so. Her lips were painted a deep red, as they always were when she returned from the Tournament; it must have been some sort of habit of hers when she wanted to relax in the evening.

He belatedly realized he hadn't reacted and hastily held out the book to her. She took it daintily and unabashedly, and he saw by the collected look in her eyes that she had known about these books. But then... why were such things in the possession of someone so dedicated to the Light?

"Wrenn... do you know what this is?" She paused and gestured to the rest of the bookshelf. "What these are?"

"They seem to be, ah..." He flushed and felt his face warm. "Books of an, er, erotic nature."

"Yes indeed." She was much too calm, and there was the hint of a smile at her lips. "And do you think I would want anyone to know about this... hidden... bookshelf?"

"No?" Wrenn ventured with a wince. Was she going to fire him?

"Good." She smiled, but there was something strange in her eyes. "Now that you know about this, I will have to punish you."

"Punish... me?" he quieted near the end of this question.

"To give you a taste of what should happen," she drew even closer to him, predatory. "If you should let this information slip."

"What kind of..." He trailed off as her hands began to trace over his shoulders and down his arms, drawing imaginary spirals as they went.

"What kind of punishment, indeed."

A soft, wry laugh.

* * *

Kain wasn't sure where he was, exactly. He was somewhere past Dustwither Spire, past the ghost-ridden gardens. Sitting at the azure shores, he played with the guild communicator in his hand, turning it over and over and wondering why. A distinct sensation of cold washed through him, though this was a warm day without a breeze.

He supposed he had to be worried about Felfe, which was only natural. Just thinking of the night-elf in BGs made him grimace, but that wasn't it. He didn't want him to get hurt, yes. But what if Felfe excelled? What if he finally found his niche in the World and became that confident, deadly rogue he had always wanted to be?

That would leave Kain sitting beside the calm waves, looking out onto the ocean's tempestuous waters as he considered which of his guild members he was definitely not going to call. None of them could soothe the aching fear in his stomach that Felfe would find everything he needed and no longer require his company. Perhaps the more assertive Felfe wouldn't understand him anymore. Would he be the same Felfe as the one Kain had cornered in the Hillsbrad forests so long ago?

The thought of losing the younger elf was heart-wrenching. He told himself he was overreacting and it was just a few BGs. Felfe wasn't in any danger there. He wouldn't change so rapidly; surely, Kain would see him soon and ascertain that for himself.

He looked out at the crashing waves and the sea spray.

* * *

"Milady, may... may I ask where we're going?" Wrenn said timidly, walking directly behind her as she had ordered. He was trying to keep his gaze off her thighs again, though it was easier now that he was starting to think of her as his captor.

"Somewhere appropriate," she said simply, and did not look inclined to say more.

They were walking through the catacombs under the Pavilion - he hadn't even known there was anything under it! - and it just looked like they were going in circles. Every so often they would take some stairs down a level, but otherwise everything looked identical. He wasn't sure he could have found his way out along. Was that the point? Or was the point that this place was so far removed from the Argent grounds, and so devoid of life, that no one would see his 'punishment', whatever it was?

At last they arrived at a small, stone room located in the center of the hallways. It had the appearance of a ritual chamber, complete with a sacrificial altar. Wrenn felt his blood freeze as he looked around the room. Candles, altar, a dank dungeon room... what in the world was she going to do to him?

He thought over his options and assessed that the Confessor had much more battle experience and therefore had him in the palm of her hand. But she had only said 'punishment'. The definition of punishment was an act that would change something in the punishee. So she wouldn't kill him, or sacrifice him, if she intended to evoke a change in behavior. Oh, that's right, she was punishing him to convince him his silence was necessary, and he would not be tempted to tell anyone about the erotic literature she had collected.

So she was going to let him live; that was a start. But he looked around as she strode in ahead of him and he grimaced. "What a... pleasant place this is."

"This is a place far from the Light," the Confessor said airily, seating herself on the altar with crossed legs. "Appropriate for your punishment."

Getting quite the eyeful of her legs, Wrenn flushed and tried to look away.

"Look at me, Wrenn." her smooth, commanding voice made him want to obey her every wish. He looked back at her to see her slipping off her thigh-high boots, leaving her legs completely bared.

"Wh-what are you doing?" He couldn't conceal the nervousness in his stomach as she continued, removing her long gloves.

She stretched out on the altar languidly, tossing the gloves to the floor, and ensnared him with her eyes. "Your punishment."

"I don't understand," he said, and off went her pauldrons.

Paletress looked half naked now, clad in only a sleeveless chestpiece and a tabard. And that officious chapeau that gave her such a formal air even in this state of undress. She didn't reply to his question, but the way she slipped the tabard off one shoulder, so practiced, made him cringe.

"Milady, I don't think I should be watching this..." he trailed off as she shrugged the top half of her tabard off and it pooled at her waist, revealing a corseted chestpiece. Gulp. "Milady, this is not decent in the eyes of the Light - "

"Have I not told you?" her eyes took on a haughty light, her hands went to the laces at the front of her chestpiece. "This place is far from the Light, Wrenn."

The way she said his name sent shivers through him, and he turned bodily from her. But it wasn't enough. He could hear the soft crumple of leather as her chestpiece fell to the floor. He froze. There were more sounds, whispers of cloth, and then she called to him.

"Wrenn, this is your punishment." her voice was velvety and breathy all at once. "You must look at me."

He struggled, and turned slowly to face her. She was still reclining on the sacrificial altar, and now she was clad in only her tabard. He thanked the Light that she had pulled the top half on, but there was still the creamy expanses of her legs and arms, and the hint of cleavage where her tabard's neckline fell. And that ceremonial hat, reminding him of who she was.

"I don't understand, milady." he managed to choke out. "How is this my punishment? It seems very... very indecent."

"It is your punishment to behold me and do nothing." She directed an amused, flirtatious smile at him. "You will feel the greatest temptation and refuse it. Such is your punishment. Such is the extent of this indecency."

He felt strangely relieved for a moment as he recognized that all she wanted him to do was look at her. But then he processed her words and saw that she expected him to stand there and watch as she... what?... tempted him? He took his vow of chastity very seriously, and he didn't think he felt much besides horror at this point.

"Oh, I see." he gave a sigh of relief and didn't catch her eyes narrowing for a moment.

"Precisely," she purred, and undid the tie of her tabard.

* * *

That night, Yuren was actually not in the kitchen when he met Lance. Instead, he was in his own room, idly brushing out his relatively clean hair. When the knock came at the door, he jumped and set down the brush to open it. Lance stood there, smile in place, and Yuren nodded curtly and left the room next to the paladin.

"Arena?" Yuren quipped.

"Yeah." Lance queued them and they sat down in the sitting room to wait.

There was an odd silence, but it was severed when they were transported to the Blade's Edge arena. Well, it wasn't that the silence ended, but rather they had preparing to do and a battle to focus on to distract from the silence. Yuren, of course, would never admit he minded the quiet. But somehow it wasn't a good quiet. There was something sinister about the silence as they got themselves ready for the battle.

After they had played a few matches, Yuren finally got the nerve to say something.

"Lance," Yuren prodded - literally - as they were getting ready for another match.

"Yes?" He looked over at him expectantly, as if waiting to hear something of great importance.

"Uh..." Yuren wasn't sure what his partner wanted to hear, so he just said, "Good match."

This didn't appear to be it, from Lance's effort to keep up his smile. "Ah, right. Indeed."

Yuren squinted a little and, dissatisfied with his examination, said, "You don't seem..." But his words scurried away and he thought abruptly that he didn't know what he was trying to say.

"Seem what?" Lance echoed, and again he got that look in his eyes like he was waiting.

"I don't know." Yuren almost cringed at the resulting expression on the paladin's face. It was strange; he didn't usually care what the other said, but right now he felt crushed by Lance's abject apathy.

They walked into the arena and witnessed something neither of them were prepared for, apathy or not. An orange-haired blood-elf hunter was running toward them, accompanied by a dark-colored panther and an unfamiliar blood-elf with long golden hair. The hunter halted and blinked at them, mirroring their expressions as they, too, stopped a good distance away.

"It can't be... wasn't he in the institution?" Yuren muttered incredulously. "Why's the damn guildwrecker doing arenas?"

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Lance said uncertainly, and strode forward with his eyes on the blonde elf.

Liam and the blonde elf were now exchanging words, and the blonde elf gave a sigh and looked quite tasked. The hunter only shrugged at him awkwardly and then cringed. He looked down at the large cat and mumbled something to it.

"Hey, blondie," Yuren called out to the other elf and pushed in front of Lance, figuring he could handle this better as he was at least part of the Horde in the first place. "Would you tell me what he's doing in the arenas?"

They heard Liam say something about someone not being very nice before the blonde elf cut him off with a glare and answered serenely, "I am Liam's mentor figure at the Bluebell Institute. Might I surmise that you are Yuren?"

"I am," Yuren confirmed dismissively, and persisted. "What is the deal with this arena business?"

"Liam has been showing much improvement lately," Nahir spoke carefully, his gaze flitting back to his patient every so often, the hint of a smile on his lips. "The only reward I was allowed to give him was the opportunity to arena under my surveillence."

Yuren wasn't pleased with this answer, but he was relieved to know that the fiery-haired elf had not been freed from the institution. He couldn't do any harm in an arena, and if he was being watched he was even less likely to cause trouble.

"Very well," Yuren nodded, and he steped back to where Lance was. "Let us retreat back to our starting areas, take another minute of preparation, and start our battle."

Nahir nodded politely to him, and both teams returned to their entrance areas.

"Are you sure we can do this?" Lance asked him quietly, arms folded uncharacteristically.

Yuren put on a great show of scowling and said, "Of course. We did it once, we can do it again."

The gates opened, and the they edged carefully into Blades' Edge arena. Yuren took the lead and started up the ramp while Lance hung back. The hunter and his panther came into view immediately on the bridge, both running towards them. It was simple - deceivingly simple. Yuren took the bait anyway and yelled to Lance to find the priest while he charged Liam the short distance between them.

Liam started to strafe back across the bridge, using his panther to kite Yuren toward him while firing off a few shots, and the warrior tried in vain to get the large cat off of him. Meanwhile, Lance had located the blonde elf, who was at the other end of the bridge.

Lance hurried up the enemy-side ramp and interrupted the healer with a hammer of justice, followed up with a seal and a judgment that would hopefully finished him off before he could shield. Yuren did something crazy then and charged the priest, throwing in a few of his own heroic strikes even while Liam and the panther were trying to cut him down.

Dangerously low on health, Yuren popped some cooldowns and a shield wall appeared around him just as the priest fell. Lance threw him a flash heal and Yuren took Revenge on the panther. It was almost down, now, and he lined himself up for a slam...

... And the panther and Yuren fell from the bridge as a result of the momentum, the cat cushioning his fall with its temporary corpse. He looked back up at the bridge to see Lance, boiling with avenging wrath, throw a mighty hammer of wrath at the running hunter. It took Liam down to minimal health, but the elf turned and found Yuren, leveling a kill shot at the wounded warrior.

It struck, and Yuren collapsed next to the panther, breathing his last breath of the match. At least, that was what he thought. The kill shot should have finished him, but a good part of its damage hadn't affected him. He looked up at Liam's freaked-out exclamation and saw that Lance had just fallen.

"Hand of Sacrifice?" Liam growled loudly. "You've got to be kidding me! What an idiot."

Yuren's eyes narrowed, rage flowing through him, and went completely berserk. He took Liam in his sights and performed a heroic leap the likes of which had never been seen before. Caught off guard, the hunter barely had time to react before he was mercilessly executed. The match won, Yuren stood there woodenly looking at the body of his enemy, eyes hardening with the deja vu the sight inspired.

Back at the mansion, Lance rushed over to his favorite warrior and engulfed him in a trademark hug, squeezing most of the air from him in the process.

"That was awesome!" Lance grinned freely. "I knew you could do it. I only wish I could have cut him down myself!"

"Speaking of which," Yuren grumbled, not feeling any triumph in the situation. "Don't you think we should tell the others about this? Alyane and Silya are bound to run into him."

"Ah," Lance sobered visibly. "You're right. Should we tell Kain?"

"Not sure yet," the warrior ran his skeletal fingers through his hair with a sigh. "We'll see what the others say."

"C'mere," the paladin said. Yuren obliged hesitantly and they shared another hug.

"Thanks for, uh, the sacrificial rescue." Yuren mumbled awkwardly into Lance's shoulder. "Even though it was completely unnecessary and you could have finished him off yourself and - "

"_Yuren,_" Lance teased. "And where would be the fun in that?" They locked eyes and there was a moment of quiet respect, a rare thing for the undead man. Feeling like he ought to say something but lost for words, Yuren looked away uneasily, then back again.

Lance, noticing, brought them closer and whispered, "Actions speak louder, you know."

Yuren looked back at him and for maybe the first time thought he wanted to see that face every single day. It was a scary sort of attachment, creating waves of protective feelings in him, but then he _was _a tank. He leaned in just enough to give the paladin a brief kiss.

A brief kiss that somehow turned into a long, sweet kiss with the two of them pressed together like a group about to wipe on the Lich King in Halls of Reflection, crowding against one another in their desperate need to stay out of range. It was a pleasantly warm sensation, and Yuren was surprised to think that maybe it wasn't so bad.

They pulled away after a while and Lance just smiled. He didn't say a word, only kissed Yuren familiarly on the forehead and gestured to the door. They went off to the kitchens in search of food, both very much forgetting the recent battle.

* * *

"Did you see that?" Liam whined, and Shiya'mal's tail flicked over to whack him in the leg. "Ow! I mean, didn't you think that was crazy?"

"They seemed very connected, those two." Nahir was, as usual, all business. "We could do much to learn from their teamwork."

Liam seemed about to say something else, but then he closed his mouth and only huffed. "Yeah, guess so."

They were sitting in Nahir's office, Liam sprawled on the pillows like usual while his mentor sat, collected, behind his desk. Liam had been complaining about some kind of unfairness since they had gotten back, but he hadn't seemed to notice a particular detail.

"You don't seem bothered by the fact that we fought them," Nahir pointed out strategically. "Only that we lost."

"Well, yeah." Liam said, but then he scratched his head for a moment. "Oh, that's what you mean! Nah, that stuff feels like it happened a while ago. I don't really think about it anymore, you know?"

"Really?" Nahir leaned forward slightly in his chair, elegant blonde eyebrow arched. "When you arrived in my care, I seem to recall you thought about it often."

"Feels like forever ago," Liam said dismissively, patting the panther who was lying amongst the cushions with him. "Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking, pulling all those stunts."

"Indeed," Nahir gave a rare smile. "You have come a long way, haven't you?"

Liam perked up. "Really? Does that mean I might be free soon?"

"Do not get too hasty," the priest gently rebuffed. "I think it would be to your benefit to stay here a little longer. Deal with the issues that caused your strange behavior in the first place."

"Oh, that doesn't sound fun." Liam groaned. "Couldn't we just have bubble baths and run around outside and make weird engineering crap?"

Nahir, for once, didn't contain his quiet laugh. "Clearly, you need to spend more time here."

Liam gaped and then a grin spread across his face. He got to his feet and strode over to the desk, leaning far over it and resting his arms on the edge of it. "Was that a joke I heard?"

"It is possible," Nahir inclined his head only slightly, the hint of a smile at his lips.

"Well," Liam teased, leaning even farther over the desk until they were nose-to-nose. "I'll dish more if you tell more jokes, deal?"

* * *

Kain's outraged shout rang out through the mansion and might have scared several people if they hadn't all been aware of the situation before him. He struggled to get a hold on himself and his gauntleted hand went to his forehead, eyes closing as he forced calm. They - Yuren, Lance, Alyane, and Silya - had expected this kind of reaction, and the four of them were seated relatively serenely in the sitting room, contrasting to Kain's troubled pacing.

He regained enough composure to open his eyes, pace properly and say, "And how did he get into an arena team? Is he free -"

"No, he is still contained in the Bluebell Institute." Yuren cut off that thought before it went any further. "The priest accompanying him explained it to us. According to him, his mentor - the priest - has seen... 'improvement'... so he decided to let the guy arena with him. Some kind of supervised stress relief."

"Hm," Kain answered eloquently, and seemed to lose himself in thought.

Lance cautiously said, "Should we let Felfe know about - "

"No!" Kain said vehemently, and all eyes went to him. He sighed, the fight going out of him, and sank into his armchair. "Not yet. From what I've heard, he has been doing well in the battlegrounds. I don't want to worry him when he has his own quests to complete."

"Well, you'll haveta tell him sometime," Silya broke in indignantly. "I mean, you aren't going to just keep him in the - "

"Wow, everyone's here and everything!"

The five seated individuals froze at the familiar voice. Felfe was standing in the open doorway, beaming like he had just found himself with a group of overgeared teammates in a normal dungeon. They all hastily packed away their seriousness and rose to greet him, congratulating him on how much he had been excelling lately. Kain alone stood back, letting them all bombard him with questions and advice after a mere two days of BGs.

Felfe answered their questions, nodded at their advice, and when he finished looked around with wide eyes. They came to settle on Kain, and the young night-elf pushed through the group without shame and went to Kain's embrace. Together again, the sweetness of the hug was almost too much for Felfe, who mumbled embarrassedly that it had only been two days and he shouldn't have been so lonely.

Kain, despite himself, brightened at those words and took them as evidence of Felfe's affection for him. He smiled and held the other elf at arm's length, looking him over approvingly.

"I've heard you're doing well," he told him.

"It's easier than I thought," Felfe admitted, and then he spontaneously hugged Kain again. "But I'm just happy to see you. What have you been doing?"

"Oh, a few heroics and a raid last night." Kain said simply. "Nothing terribly interesting." His old smirk resurfaced.

"Ah, not full-power!" Felfe giggled, and pretended to wilt into him at the smirk's dizzying effects. "You have to be careful with that, silly."

The onlookers shook their heads and chuckled, departing awkwardly to give the two some space. Lance and Yuren left with the warrior mentioning something about dinner preparations, while the two women seemed to have something else entirely on their minds, eyebrow-language signaling mutual interest in a more pleasurable activity than cooking.

Felfe and Kain, of course, hardly noticed the sudden absence of all other life in the room. They were much too busy swapping stories, laughing, and practically falling onto the sofa due to Felfe's clumsiness.

Liam lurked in back of Kain's mind, but as long as he was in the institution he didn't matter, and their pleasant reunion went on regardless.

* * *

**Thoughts? Criticisms? Witticisms?**


	16. Chapter 16

Still going strong. Cut down the number of chapters I need and combined a couple to make things flow a little better. Enjoy!

**Reviewers:**

MischeviousMagic - Awww, glad you're so excited! I thought it was time Yuren came to terms with his obvious denial. Hrmm.

PencilsLovePaper - Yeah, I've been planning Liam/Nahir as a couple since the start of FWBF. It's just taking its damn time, haha. Wow, I had no idea Paletress would be so entertaining for anyone; I really just kind of threw it in there as a backdrop to the Lance/Yuren that was going on. Hmm... must pursue further. I don't think Nahir meant anything by his comment except that Lance and Yuren seemed to be able to read each other's actions well (but who knows)!

Kae-x - Wow, a new face! I'm so happy you took all that time to read it, and liked it. Congrats on joining the Lance/Yuren club, and I'm sure Yuren would be happy to hear that he's badass.

**Warning: **Read with caution. There is a slight time jump during the chapter that would be confusing to miss. OH YEAH, and there's also some actual M-rated stuff. Finally.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

**

* * *

**

Felfe joined his companions as they rushed into Frostwolf Keep, a plethora of battlecries making the air hum. His wasn't among them; something about being a rogue in a battleground made excess noise seem so unnecessary to him. In the chaotic mix that followed, Drek'thar was charged by four warriors and besieged by over thirty others. It took an average amount of time to chisel his health down, according to what Felfe had seen so far that day.

The valley won, Felfe cheered momentarily with his companions before wandering away in search of the next battleground. He entered Warsong Gulch and took a seat near where the flag would spawn, knowing he had a few minutes before the battle would start. Others appeared sporadically in the flagroom, trading buffs, but Felfe stayed back, contemplative.

Seeing Kain again had put many of his fears to rest, at least for now. At the same time, though, it had made parting that morning a sad event. Remembering the look on Kain's face when he had said that last thing, though...

Leaning close to whisper in his ear, warm breath startling, _'When you hit 80, I'll have a surprise for you.'_

Shivering - as he did now - he had replied with more tenacity than he thought he had. _'Will I like this surprise?'_

And, of course, Kain's reply - a smirk at full power, melting the younger elf's legs to moonberry jello. It gave him little shudders of pleasure to remember it, the way Kain had looked at him, that burning in his eyes...

"Hey, rogue!"

Felfe snapped out of his rather delicious daydreams to see a druid calling out to him from the roof. "Huh?"

The druid huffed. "If you're gonna guard the flag, at least stealth by it! Gawd, you're gonna get yourself killed. Then you won't be any use at all!"

"Sorry!" Felfe called back, and melted into invisibility. He couldn't believe he had forgotten himself like that. The battle must have started a few minutes back, but he hadn't noticed a thing. Dangerous, to be so off his guard.

* * *

A week after his last talk with Felfe, Temarr was walking through the Dalaran gardens when he noticed that he had mail. With a far-off look to his eyes, he wandered toward the mailbox and thought on who it might be. After a moment he disregarded most of his guesses, as half were fictional characters, a quarter historical figures, and the rest were beings he hadn't associated with for at least two years. For whatever reason, he never expected mail from anyone he had met recently; he always assumed that if they had something important to tell him that they would simply show up and make themselves known.

After mistakenly walking into the cheese shop, the pet shop, and ending up at the Flight Platform, the undead warlock shook his head wearily and plodded back down the street. He managed to pull himself from his nearly constant dream-state long enough to locate a mailbox and retrieve his mail. He hadn't gotten mail of any consequence in half a decade.

It was from Wrenn, that paladin he had sat with in the lunch hall at Bluebell. Confused but quite pleased, he opened it to find an obviously hasty letter with very little to it.

_HELP. BOSS INSANE. TORTURE. PAVILION._

_- Wrenn_

Temarr was immediately intrigued by the desperate sound - and capital letters - of the thing. Not only that, there was a stamp at the bottom that had something to do with the Argent Tournament. So that was where the man had gone off to. It sounded like he was in trouble, and because Temarr knew a bit about Wrenn, he also knew the paladin wasn't the type to ask for help or complain about a troublesome situation. For that reason, he took the letter at face-value and understood that Wrenn was, as unlikely as it seemed, in a serious bind.

Perhaps literally, Temarr mused with an absentminded smile.

* * *

"Yeah! How was _that!_" Liam crowed, standing over a couple of unfortunate opponents in the Nagrand arena. "Cut those bitches down like -"

"_Liam._"

" - like butter on freshly baked bread!" the hunter finished with a grin, sashaying over to his mentor. "C'mon, Nahir, you gotta admit that was a good match."

"It was," Nahir admitted, but contained his smile. "Now it's time to return."

Liam took hold of one of Nahir's sleeves and whined, "Awww, but - "

"It is lunchtime, Liam." The priest gently tugged his sleeve from Liam's grip. "You wouldn't want to miss a meal, would you?"

"Just one more match!" Liam begged, doing his best to look desperate. "It won't take that long."

Nahir considered the request for a moment and said levelly, "I see no harm in it. But I also see no benefit."

"The benefit is, uh," Liam scrambled for something plausible. "We can, uh, build stronger bonds and... er... it'll help me open up more!"

"That can be said for the arenas in general, but is not particularly relevant to a single match." Nahir replied coolly, slight smirk betrayed his mirth at the hunter's inept excuses.

"I'll be good!" Liam burst out, and he flushed a little at how dumb it sounded. "For the rest of the day!"

Nahir considered the offer and gave a mental shrug. "Fine. Let us queue."

And so they ended up in the Blades' Edge arena once again, waiting anxiously - on Liam's side - for the battle to start. He was trying to give his mentor a few last tips before the gates opened, but he was too late, and was interrupted. Shouting a last reminder of something about shield use, the hunter ran out ahead of the priest.

The battle was a whirl of activity - he sent Shiya'mal after the gnome mage and downed him within a few seconds. Bad gear, probably. He then set his sights on the death knight, who was considerably more difficult to hold off even as Beast Mastery. Everything went so fast.

Suddenly, Liam was fighting the death knight on the sandy ground while Nahir tried to heal him from atop the bridge. It wasn't working; the line of sight was broken. Nahir told him this, calling out to him just as the death knight got a bit of an edge in their duel.

"Jump!" Liam yelled back, and he put his all into hacking the death knight with his survival skills while Shiya'mal took his attention.

Nahir wasn't replying, so Liam desperately tried to hammer away at the death knight while he was busy with Shiya'mal, facing slightly away from him. The great panther fell with a last growl and Liam echoed it angrily.

Yes! Liam saw an opening and went for it, striking the death knight at the opportune moment and getting a lucky crit. The enemy fell and Liam took a couple steps back to survey his victory -

THUD.

Something slammed into Liam and forced him to the ground, knocking all the air out of him in the process. A weight rested on top of him and he gasped for breath, his vision blanking out before it creeped back to him shamefully. All he could see now was a light golden-y color. Almost like...

"Idiot," Nahir's voice was breathless and had lost all its formality. "You backed up just as I jumped."

"Still... your fault." Liam managed, no small feat since Nahir's form was still draped atop him. And then he started to regain his breath and noticed just what that meant.

Nahir stirred, but Liam was fast enough to seize a wrist and pull his mentor back down to him. Lunchtime or no lunchtime, this setup didn't come around every day, and Liam took his opportunities seriously.

"Nahir," he panted, drawing them closer until the blonde's face was hovering above his. "I..." He had nothing to say, nothing prepared...

Nahir leaned closer only to diverge from the path to his lips, instead breathing at his ear, "Not the time or place, I'm afraid."

Liam, panting subsiding, caught Nahir by the collar of his robes as he withdrew. "Tell me the right time and place, then." His spark was back, he _had_ this, he was the _man_ -

"Well, if you finish your lunch fast enough..." Nahir feigned contemplation, then his usually cold eyes drifted down to lock with Liam's. "Perhaps my office."

"I don't know if you're joking," Liam said, full of wonder. "... Sooooo... let's go?"

After Liam inhaled a small bowl of mystery stew at the dining hall, the rest of the walk to Nahir's office became a blur. His mind was going every which way, wondering if Nahir was just mocking him with his offer (offer of what, anyway?) or if they were really about to sex it up. It wasn't like nothing had happened before this - there was the much too quick one-night stand they'd had a couple weeks back. But Nahir had used that as his 'deal' thingy so he could supposedly get Liam to lose interest in him.

This was all new. No bargaining, no discussion, no deals...

And Nahir was locking the office door as Liam stood, trying not to look nervous, by the floor pillows. The priest turned back to him with a calculating expression and leaned back against the door. Liam was positive that this move would have seemed unbearably stupid if it wasn't Nahir and his cool gaze. Watching for his reaction, probably.

Liam coughed and folded his arms awkwardly. "Sooo..."

"You had something you wanted to say to me, I believe." Nahir said calmly, still leaning back against the door like some sort of pinup model.

Liam's mind went into overdrive. Did Nahir think his unfinished sentence was the reason they were here? Had he overblown the whole thing? Were they actually _not going to have sexytimes? _He deadpanned and thought over all this while his mentor watched, clearly amused. Not hard to be, when the subject's facial expressions changed drastically every few seconds.

After a few minutes, though, Nahir shook his head and began unlocking the office door again, as if to say the opportune moment had passed. Liam was not about to let this happen, and he snapped out of his wayward thoughts when he heard the door unlock.

"Wait!" Liam said, launching forward to somehow stop his mentor from leaving the room.

Now, there's this thing about silk - it's very smooth. And slippery. So when Liam's foot met the slippery silk surface of the tasseled pillow, there was no hope for his traction, and all bets were placed on his looking like an idiot as a result of his imminent fall.

So he tripped. More than that, his momentum sent him flying into Nahir, pushing the door shut as they collided against it. They fell awkwardly onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. Confused, and this time the victim of having his breath forced out of him, Nahir could do little more than lay there underneath Liam as the hunter tried to disentangle a little to give him some breathing space.

"Do you..." Pant. "_like_..." Pant. "injuring people?"

Liam was too busy analyzing the rare sight of Nahir, breathless beneath him, struggling to get words out. "No. But I like _this_."

Nahir's gaze snapped to him at that, and he made a great effort to get his words out. "You..." Huff. "I thought you were done with your..." Pant. "misguided games!"

"Never," Liam mumbled, leaning closer to savor the - sigh - the _lack _of reaction this caused in Nahir. Hard-ass. He wished there was something he could do to make the priest lose concentration; even during their one-night stand Nahir had always been in control of himself, somehow.

"Why must you always corner me somehow?" Nahir sighed, going limp under him in a show of surrender. He had said before that he thought struggling would only encourage Liam, but he was wrong. Liam wasn't looking at things the same way anymore; the not struggling just made things easier, and more enjoyable. And less guilt-ridden.

"You wouldn't let me get this close to you if I didn't," Liam answered offhandedly, eyes tracing down the pale column of the priest's neck. Wondering if he ought to...

"Interesting," said Nahir, and propped himself up on his arms so he forced Liam to withdraw slightly. "I thought so - you don't believe you can get close to anyone unless you force things."

"You're psychoanalyzing again, aren't you?" Liam groaned. "Yeah, yeah, you're right."

"Well, I have an idea." That tone, curious and calculated at the same time, sent a shudder through him. "Get up."

Liam, abandoning the rather pleasing arrangement where Nahir was on the floor underneath him, rose. He extended a polite hand to Nahir, who took it without comment. The two of them stood there, Nahir's back to the door, but the priest didn't seem completely satisfied.

"Over here," his mentor said, striding to the center of the pillow-strewn room. "There is a comfortable amount of space here."

Liam came to stand near Nahir, but the blonde elf pulled him closer so that they were nearly as close as they had been on the floor. The hunter flushed a little, having no idea what he was up to and trying not to think of the possibilities. Then Nahir released his hands and left them standing there, facing one another, much too close to be speaking normally.

Then Nahir said calmly, "Now go ahead."

"What?" Liam said incredulously. "You mean..."

Nahir closed his eyes and said with a slight upturn of his lips, "Yes. I realize it must be intimidating for you like this, but I would like you to try."

"And you're... you're just gonna let me?" Liam asked.

Nahir, eyes still closed, nodded patiently.

Liam took a deep breath, speechless. One hand drifted slowly to the side of the priest's face, and it trembled for a moment before he stopped it. His other hand carefully brushed aside a few stray blonde hairs before settling on the other side of his face. He felt Nahir swallow, something fluttering behind closed eyes, and he leaned in as he tilted his mentor's face just slightly to complement his.

He pressed his lips to Nahir's slowly, savoring the kiss as he drew even closer to him. One hand slipped down around the priest's waist, feeling more natural there, but he hardly noticed. Their mouths slid together seamlessly and he didn't want to pull back because maybe Nahir wouldn't give him another chance. So he pressed Nahir against him firmly with the hand on his waist and claimed his mouth, forcing a gasp for air out of the blonde in the brief lapse in the kiss.

Liam instinctively licked at his bottom lip and, as the other's lips parted, delved into him with his tongue. And then Nahir shifted against him, squirming slightly like he couldn't get close enough and the kiss became much more heated. His tongue slide over Nahir's and the priest let out a muffled noise and pulled away, head tilting back as he gasped for air, unwittingly - or perhaps by his own design - exposing his neck for the only too willing Liam.

The redhaired elf wasted no time, planting strategic kisses along the blonde's jaw and then down his neck, pausing whenever Nahir's breathing sped up to suck on whatever spot was causing the excitement. Eventually he stopped at the juncture between neck and shoulder, licking the skin there and then biting it softly. Every time his tongue slide over that spot, Nahir melted against him, hands now coming to grasp the front of his tunic for support. Liam took the hint and started sucking at the patch of skin right at the base of his neck.

Nahir let out a moan.

The next moment they were on the floor among the sea of silk pillows, and Liam was revealing Nahir's shoulders as he pulled off his robe, helped a little by Nahir, who seemed very much not himself. The robe slipped down to bare a pale and lightly-sculpted chest, but all Liam cared about was the little noises his mentor was making every so often. He wanted much, much more than the slight intakes of breath that Nahir was obviously trying to restrain.

* * *

Felfe was brimming with energy. The BG was over - Isle of Conquest had been successfully defended, and he had just reached 80 during the battle. He felt like jumping up and down, or maybe gutting a few last Horde if it was possible (it wasn't). He wanted to start some of the higher-level battlegrounds immediately, but something excited him even more than the thought of his speedy success in PVP.

_'When you hit 80, I'll have a surprise for you.'_

He was out of the battleground within moments and on a gryphon, heading to Hillsbrad. It was a shame, really, that he had few flightpaths due to lack of questing experience, or he could have taken one to Western Plaguelands. As it was, he was nervously bouncing a little on his gryphon, anxious to return to Undercity, the mansion, his friends... and Kain.

The gryphon shook its head, dislodging a few stray feathers. Clearly displeased with its rider's behavior. Felfe attempted to pat it apologetically, but it only turned its eagle eye on him with a glare. He felt like he had been shushed in the Stormwind Library.

In spite of it all, he giggled. Backstabbing enemies, dueling head to head with others, capturing bases and defending keeps... none of it had really changed him. He was still the same old Felfe, wasn't he? Another giggle, just to be sure.

"Oh, muffins." He sighed contentedly. "Who'd have thought."

* * *

Temarr arrived at the Argent Tournament grounds near evening and calmly proceeded to the Pavilion, not once wondering how he was going to rescue Wrenn. Surely, everything would work out. After all, this was the Argent Tournament; whatever quarrel the paladin had with his boss, the highly recommended holy figures of the tournament would surely solve.

Therefore, as Temarr walked into the Pavilion and saw Wrenn, with wild eyes, sitting at one of the benches where a priestess was preaching, he merely walked over and sat down one bench away from him, waving awkwardly. Wrenn did not wave back, but something melted in his eyes and he looked about on the verge of tears, though he did not move a muscle in his seat. Temarr thought this behavior was very odd, so he wrote down a little note on a piece of parchment, tore it off, and handed it to Wrenn.

Wrenn pretended confusion - or was that real? - as he took the note, and Temarr saw the blonde priestess pause in her sermon momentarily and glare in their general direction.

Wrenn read the note and crumpled it up, then shrugged at Temarr. But he had definitely read it, as eyes flickered to Paletress and back to Temarr's.

_'Where is your boss?'_

Ah. So the priestess was the one torturing him. Temarr wasn't going to ask any questions - yet - but he could imagine. Something in the way she held herself proclaimed absolute power. Women like that were often a danger.

Temarr looked back to Wrenn and carefully tilted his head to one side, just slightly. Wrenn took a gulp and his eyes went to the ceiling.

_'Where are you being kept?'_

Of course. The upstairs of the Pavilion. Temarr smiled; it was all so lukewarm, so very typical of human behavior. He gave a small nod to Wrenn and made his exit, knowing that the paladin had read the note's contents. _'I will return later.'_

_

* * *

_

"Hey, where's Temarr?" Silya could be heard asking as guests sifted through the ballroom, looking for food, drink, a dance partner, and sometimes romance.

Felfe had entered the mansion to a surprise party that had sent him into astonished tears. He had had to tell Kain repeatedly that he was very grateful and quite happy, despite his damp face, for the thoughtfulness. Even then, the paladin had hugged him for a few minutes, rubbing his back comfortingly until he eased out of his tears. He had said something, a little sheepish, about hating to see him cry.

"Felfe, gratz!" Melinda called out from the throng of guests.

Felfe waved and thanked her as she disappeared into the moving mass that was the dance-floor. He had already been greeted and congratulated by a good many old friends and even acquaintances. Guanji had given him a troll hug the likes of which he hoped never to suffer again, as it had squeezed all the air from his much tinier body. Maren and Yekkinji had even shown up, though their congrats had been less enthusiastic, unavoidably, than Guanji's. Even the messenger-guy was here. His mother, who had been flown in from Teldrassil, had given him one of her trademark hugs to rival Guanji's and had told him how she had always known he was a special boy.

And so the party went by, with everyone partaking of the spectacular food and drink which had, for once, been bought from a vendor. Yuren had muttered about it for the first hour of the party, but eventually Lance had quieted him with a few glasses of Dalaran red, and the two hadn't been seen since. At around midnight, Alyane and Silya had given him a very well-crafted card - Silya had gone Inscription, which she claimed had helped immensely - and their best wishes. They had then slipped away; not unusual, as it was getting late and many of the guests were doing likewise.

After a while, he and Kain had said goodbye to the last group of people, leaving them alone to survey the surprisingly intact ballroom. There were plates and glasses everywhere, but this wasn't the time. They were finally alone, and Felfe immediately went to his... to Kain.

"I'm... proud of you, Felfe." Kain said quietly, eyes mysteriously sparkling until Felfe noticed a tear threatening to run down his face. The paladin gave a distracting cough in order to wipe his eyes hastily. Definitely typical.

"I'm so happy," Felfe said, extending his hand in encouragement to Kain.

Holding hands comfortably, they made their way toward Kain's room, Felfe leaning his head on the taller elf's shoulder. Or, well, his bicep - he wasn't quite tall enough to reach Kain's shoulder. He giggled at the realization, and Kain laughed with him, having somehow understood just by the look on the night-elf's face.

* * *

It was late, very late, when Temarr returned to the Pavilion to make good on his words. All were asleep, and no one guarded the concealed stairs he had guessed at earlier. Having read his share of mysteries, the warlock calmly ascended the steps and...

... Walked right into a warm body. Awkward pause. Too dark to see.

"Wrenn?" Temarr said, very quietly.

A great sigh of relief. "Yeah."

"We should go."

And it was that simple. They had walked all the way past the Black Knight's tent, out of sight of the Tournament grounds. Wrenn started to slow, then, once they were out of immediate danger. Temarr halted and, seeing his companion's fatigue, sat down and patted the ground beside him.

"You look awful," the warlock mused aloud. "What exactly happened?" Ideas for his new book, he was hoping. _Who Needed on My Heart! _It was supposed to be a collection of romances.

Wrenn said, "A lot. I don't know if I can remember all of it." The paladin buried his face in his hands.

"You can try," Temarr prodded with a skeletal finger. The intrigue was the reason he was here, after all.

"All right, so I was dusting one day and I found -" Wrenn halted, as if forbidden to say more, and changed his words. "Well, basically she - the Confessor - she got angry and said she was going to punish me."

"Yes? And?" Temarr said, but he was going to remember the unfinished line about the dusting. Conspicuous? He thought so.

"She took me down to this dungeon room," Wrenn recalled, paling. "And she took off all her clothes. She said she was punishing me by making me watch... I didn't really understand."

Temarr understood and nodded appreciatively. "So it's like that."

Wrenn shot him a confused look, but then went on. "She's been doing that ever since. So I guess that would be... seven or eight times."

"Is that all she does?" Temarr inquired curiously. "She never did anything besides take her clothes off?"

Wrenn, if he thought Temarr's interest was misplaced, didn't show it. In fact, he flushed a deep red and began muttering nonsensical things that almost sounded like paladin vows. Chastity-related? More than likely, thought Temarr.

"Ah." Temarr said, and left it at that.

"Uh... yeahhh." Wrenn hesitated, and mumbled very quietly, "She... touched herself. You know. It was..."

"Yeah," Temarr patted his back sympathetically.

"Yeah," sighed Wrenn. "I mean, I take my vow of chastity seriously. But being forced to watch... it's torture. Even if I would never break my vows."

The warlock nodded knowingly and got to his feet. "Well, let us go. Perhaps we should go to Dalaran for now." His mellow voice could calm even the most furious of warriors.

"Right," said Wrenn with relief.

* * *

When Kain opened the doors to his room, Felfe gaped and looked back up at him. And then back at the room. And then back to _him_.

"Oh, Kain!" He ran over to the small table that had been set up in the spacious room. It was of blood-elven make, with spiraling designs in red and gold. But he was more in awe of what lay on top of it. It was a moonberry cake, a little awkwardly shaped and obviously homemade. The icing was unsteady, the cake sagging slightly...

"I practiced a few times before I made this one," Kain explained, and Felfe turned to see him wince. "He said the first few were 'liable to mutate into swamp creatures'."

"It's wonderful," Felfe gushed, and went straight to Kain's arms. "_You're _wonderful."

Kain laughed. "Now, now, it's your night. I may have made a cake, but you've reached 80." He smirked. "And soon, I'm sure, 85."

Felfe, for once, wasn't even daunted by that mythical number. It seemed, in that blissful moment, a conquerable distance. It was as if, today, he knew he could do anything. He had always had it, the possibility, but today he felt it.

They each consumed a slice of cake, as well as a small glass of Silvermoon Port. The room was softly lit by some magic - Felfe figured it came with the place - and the whole room had a different feel to it. It wasn't just a bedroom any longer, it was somewhere special, like a secret hideout. Except better.

As he took the last sip of his port, Felfe saw Kain set a small, oddly shaped present on the table. If he had a guess, he'd say it was clothing of some kind.

"Go ahead," Kain smiled.

Felfe unwrapped it carefully to see a sheer, white robe. He held it out and looked at it for a moment, feeling an immense deja vu, before it came back to him. The very first time he had come to the mansion, it had been there.

"_Aha! Told joo, mon!" The troll laughed triumphantly, pulling out an item from the wardrobe. Felfe was about to point out that Guanji hadn't told him anything when he actually got a look at the thing._

_It was made of a soft, white, semi-transparent material. It looked a little bit like a robe, but it looked like it would cling to one's body almost ridiculously. There was a gold belt tied around the waist of the thing, set with rubies. The sleeves were long and wispy. The whole thing was very sheer and… dare Felfe think it… gorgeous._

"_What is it?" Felfe asked curiously. _

_"A robe." _

_But that was Kain's voice. _

"_Ah… Kain. We be just… ah… puttin' away da stuff. It was lying 'bout, ja." Guanji said hastily, but Kain only raised an eyebrow. _

"_I could have you thrown out of the guild for that, Guanji. I suggest you be more careful." It was only sarcasm, but Felfe couldn't tell._

"_Y-you wouldn't do that, would you?" The night-elf asked worriedly. "It was my idea, r-really!"_

_Now, both of Kain's eyebrows rose considerably. "Was it?"_

_And then Guanji decided to point out an interesting fact to both of them. "Dis robe be too small for joo, Kain." He gave the blood-elf a curious look that showed he knew exactly what he was implying._

"_It is not mine. I bought it as a gift for a friend." Kain answered airily, taking the thing calmly from Guanji and stuffing it back into the wardrobe before shutting its doors._

_Guanji just grinned, and towed Felfe from the room. "Must be a good friend, ja?" _

"This robe...!" Felfe held it up against himself, and sure enough, it appeared it would fit him perfectly. "You had it in your wardrobe the first time I came here. How..." He trailed off, awed.

"I was waiting for the right time," Kain murmured, and he seemed transfixed by the sight of Felfe holding up the robe, for whatever reason. "I found it in a little shop in Silvermoon that day Guanji and I gave you rings. I don't know how, but I knew."

The way he said 'knew' made Felfe a little weak at the knees. "Kain... I can't believe it. That was... such a long time ago."

"It was," Kain said. Their gazes connected, and Felfe suddenly felt like crying and laughing all at once.

It was an hour later, past reminiscings and retellings, fond memories and distant phrases recalled, that the two at last began to prepare for bed. Felfe stepped into the adjoining bathroom while Kain donned his usual red silk robe. He settled into the bed with a yawn, head propped up with a hand, and waited the few minutes for Felfe to return.

When a few minutes became ten, he called out cautiously, "Felfe?"

"I-I'm fine, I'm just, um, just about ready!" Felfe's voice was more than a little panicked, and Kain was instinctively about to start worrying when the bathroom door opened.

Kain was more than stunned.

"D-does it... does it look okay?" Felfe asked, turning wide eyes on Kain. The night-elf was smoothing down the sides of the sheer robe as if that would somehow render it less transparent than it actually was, his blush spreading across the bridge of his nose. The robe left very little to the imagination with its flowy, opaque fabric and the low cut just above the navel.

"It looks..." Kain had to take a breath to steady himself. "Spectacular. Really beautiful." And he couldn't take his eyes off of the night-elf, even more so than usual.

"Well, I w-wanted to wear it," Felfe got into the bed on the other side and crawled innocently toward Kain, completely oblivious to how sexual the action looked when he was wearing something that - "I thought maybe, since I haven't been here in a while and you've been so wonderful to me and I finally got all the way to 80 - can you believe it! - and the night has been so great already and -"

"Felfe," Kain interrupted gently, taking the night-elf's hand and trying very hard not to pounce him. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"I, um, I..." Felfe's entire face turned Silvermoon-red. "I thought maybe... we could... maybe try..." Too flustered to continue, he made a few completely nonsensical hand gestures that didn't even vaguely mimic what he was trying to convey.

Kain nearly laughed, but he caught himself in time to know it would just hurt Felfe's feelings. But he couldn't help the smile and the amusement that sparked in his eyes to know that the night-elf had been in the bathroom for that long considering what he was about to ask. As if it was some sort of favor Kain had to do for him. As if Kain might possibly become furious at the very thought.

"We can do whatever you'd like, Felfe." Kain told him, ever so kindly, and gave his hand a squeeze.

"O-oh, okay." Felfe seemed surprised and suddenly even more embarrassed. "Then... well, you know more about this than I do. What should we, um, do?"

This time Kain did laugh, and the laughing made it easier to stop from ravishing the night-elf right then and there. "Felfe, this isn't exactly something that's easy to plan out."

Felfe seemed to think very hard about something, and then he tugged on one shoulder of his robe. The showy, see-through material fell off his shoulder cooperatively, baring an expanse of untouched skin that begged to be sampled. Kain gave a cough, and Felfe pouted, clearly trying to elicit some kind of reaction with his uncharacteristic boldness.

"Kain, I just want to try..." Felfe said abruptly, very quietly. He looked up at Kain with pleading, bright eyes.

Kain turned fully toward him and cupped the night-elf's face with a hand. He leaned in slowly, cautiously, and kissed Felfe on the mouth. Felfe's hands attempted to seize the front of Kain's robe, needing something to draw him closer, but with his eyes closed he ended up with his hands on Kain's bare chest. It was a surprisingly intimate feeling, and Kain deepened the kiss then, pressed Felfe to him tightly, grasping the back of his sheer robe.

Felfe gasped into the kiss, his hands searching for the robe's low edge, for something to hold onto, but the search swiftly became obsolete as his mouth was thoroughly ravished. His hands ended up tracing down Kain's chest, exploring as he might have an unfinished map. Kain's reaction to this was immediate; the kissing began to slow, and soon his lips were abandoned entirely.

"K-Kain!" Felfe exclaimed, surprise melting into him as he felt a hot mouth at his neck, just under his jaw. Kain began planting soft kisses down his neck, eliciting little gasps as he did.

As he reached the base of his neck, Kain paused and murmured, "If you dislike anything, you -"

Felfe cut him off with a hand over the older elf's mouth, which brought a mischievous sparkle to Kain's eyes. The night-elf watched, perplexed, as Kain took the offending hand and lowered it to his lips.

"I take it you have no qualms so far, then." Kain smirked, more like himself.

He took Felfe's index finger into his mouth and sucked lightly on it. Felfe wasn't expecting the fluttery sensation that would cause, or the rapid heartbeats that were starting to drive him crazy.

"O-oh," the night-elf said breathlessly, suddenly losing himself in the feeling.

Kain released his hand, gave him a lingering kiss on the lips, and moved back down to his collarbone. Things began to warm considerably as his mouth trailed down Felfe's chest. No longer able to hold himself up, the younger elf fell back onto the bed, squirming in astonishment at Kain's mouth nearly at his navel. A kiss right above it, and then Kain looked back to him to see his expression.

Kain's eyes said it all - the night-elf, silvery-white hair splayed out on the bed and arms stretched out to grasp the sheets beneath him, nearly transparent robe falling off one shoulder - and it was something that made the paladin close his eyes for a moment, as if he had a headache. For once, Felfe could guess at the cause. It was so overwhelming, being this close to Kain.

When Kain opened his eyes, they were no less calmer. "Felfe, I -"

"I don't mind," Felfe interrupted before he could worry himself more. "I'll be fine, Kain."

That brought a smile to Kain, and, now more-or-less on top of Felfe, he leaned down to reclaim his lips. Slowly, cautiously, Kain eased the other shoulder off the night-elf's robe, and with a little help from him managed to ease his arms out of it. Felfe at first shivered at the feeling of a bare chest - he didn't often walk around like that - but any misgivings he might have had were dissolved as Kain's mouth began its journey back up his chest.

Stifling his appreciative noises, Felfe closed his eyes to the pleasurable sensation of Kain's warm breath meeting skin. He was startled when Kain's tongue met his skin, though, and when it crossed the rosy nub he couldn't hold back his hitched breath. The tongue swirled around that spot, teasingly, until Kain leaned down and took the nub whole into his mouth, sucking on it lightly at first. And then harder.

"Mmm - _ah!_" Felfe's eyes opened and he was faced with the sight of Kain kissing across his chest, toward the other nub, deliberate pass obvious. He watched as the other elf's tongue flicked out to tease the already very pink bud; it was intoxicating, more than that glass of Silvermoon port, to watch it happen. But his eyes closed on him the next moment when Kain lavished more attention on the nub. Another moan escaped him, louder this time.

Suddenly he was writhing under Kain, breathless as their hips ground together, and he completely lost all track of the noises escaping him. All he knew was that Kain's hot, wet mouth was sucking provocatively at the base of his neck and they were both very, very hard. Embarrassment was completely abandoned once his body knew exactly what it wanted, and grinding their hips together seemed to be something close to that.

He could hear Kain saying his name, softly and breathlessly, in between kissing his neck, his jaw. They kissed, sloppily, desperately, but Felfe's sounds must have been too trapped that way, so Kain soon withdrew to kiss down his neck and to his shoulder again. Felfe clumsily, with shaking hands, tried to rid Kain of his robe and failed, his hands instinctively leaving the robe to clutch the sheets tightly. So much... heat. It was unbearable.

Kain had noted his attempt, and undid the tie on his robe to shrug it off. It pooled around his body somewhere and suddenly Felfe wanted nothing more than to be as freed. Thankfully, Kain was already on that one, hurriedly undoing the gold belt and slipping the garment entirely off of the night-elf. Whatever Kain had been thinking of with earlier restraint was no longer a concern, and with them both entirely naked it would seem his earlier restraint had been in vain anyway.

Felfe's back arched on its own as Kain's hand grasped his shaft, stroking up and down it at a mind-numbingly slow pace. He was routinely moaning and gasping Kain's name now, hearing the sounds like it was somewhere in the background. His entire sphere of physical sensations narrowed to a single area, and Kain's careful ministrations were making that more than enough to focus on.

The hand withdrew, Felfe exclaiming something about its absence, and their hips ground together once more. It was frantic, heated - blindingly hot. And then there was a brief respite, no body pressed against his, and then...

He was enveloped by a moist, warm mouth, moving up and down just like the hand had, and he clutched at the sheets like the room was being turned upside-down. His back arched painfully but all he could feel was the intensity of the pleasure until finally it shattered.

He couldn't even form words as it was happening, it was only as he began to come down from it that he was able to mutter, "K-Kain, oh, Kain... oh..."

They lay there for a while as Felfe reentered the world of the non-orgasming, catching his breath and at last managing to sit up. Which was when he noticed something exceedingly odd.

"Kain," Suddenly losing a good deal of shyness, Felfe directed his gaze to his lover's, ahem, raging hard-on. "You didn't...?"

Kain didn't seem particularly bothered by this detail, although he also didn't seem to have words to reply to that question.

Felfe thought about it for a moment and recalled, vaguely, what he had felt Kain's hand doing at one point. He leaned closer to Kain and trailed a hand carefully down the older elf's chest - drawing a curious look - and past his navel - a flabbergasted look - before his fingertips brushed what he was looking at. Kain's entire body appeared to undergo one large-scale shudder as Felfe began to coil his fingers around it and stroke.

"Fe...Felfe..." Kain closed his eyes tightly for a moment. "You don't have... to... _ahh._"

Felfe's grip had firmed slightly, and he had started stroking a little faster. I mean, it wasn't that hard to figure out. It wasn't like he had never done it, himself. What was really fascinating about this was Kain's reactions. He had never had the chance to see him like this, all shudders and strangled noises of pleasure. It didn't take long for that quest to hit completion, and Felfe was soon cleaning of his hand and looking to Kain for the reward.

Still panting, Kain really did pounce him then, and they rolled around on the bed until they were too dizzy to roll anymore. Then Felfe collapsed on top of Kain, the both of them very naked and very satisfied.

"I don't see why we didn't do this sooner," Felfe said, and giggled.

Kain only sighed and shook his head, looking like he was holding back a laugh. "I've clearly underestimated you, it seems."

"Your only fault," Felfe said, and leaned down to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips.

* * *

**There. I've been imagining that scene and holding onto that sheer robe idea since about four years ago - sad?**


	17. Chapter 17

If you've ever had any suggestions you're deadset on suggesting, this is the time. After all, there may be as few as three more chapters. Craziness!

**Reviewers:**

Kae-x - Just kinda? Hehe. Yes, don't worry - Yuren and Lance will definitely appear more in this chapter. Last chapter it was more about Kain and Felfe, for once.

Copycat1773 - Yeahh... I mean it has to end sometime. Alas! And yeah, Nahir and Liam are gonna get more action.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

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**

Saying breakfast was awkward was like saying someone with the Battlemaster title was 'pretty good at PVP'. Yuren served up the eggs and bacon mutely, doing his best not to look in Lance's general direction while the other two pairs watched curiously. Well, Silya and Alyane were really the ones watching. Felfe and Kain were much too busy whispering sweet nothings to each other and giggling - on Felfe's part - to notice.

Lance muttered a thank-you as Yuren dished him out some breakfast, and Yuren's hand twitched. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the spatula, so bits of egg went flying onto Lance's freshly-washed guild tabard. Forgetting himself, the warrior grabbed a napkin and started wiping away the eggy bits.

Lance made an odd noise, between an 'um' and a 'ah'. This caused Yuren to realize what he was doing, and he let go of the napkin immediately and rushed off to serve someone else and very carefully not get egg on them. Lance flushed momentarily and grabbed the napkin that had landed on his lap, trying distractedly to wipe the rest of the egg off his tabard.

Alyane murmured something appropriate to Silya, and the blonde elf laughed loudly. Lance and Yuren both turned to look at them, Yuren glaring daggers. Silya restrained her laughter and flashed Alyane an impish smile. They began to eat, maybe to stop from laughing.

Kain and Felfe, of course, were only brought out of their reverie when Yuren set down their plates. Felfe, startled, at once thanked Yuren enthusiastically and began digging into his eggs and bacon.

"Wow, I'm so - mmph - hungry!" Almost too hungry to speak in between bites, in fact.

Kain laughed good-naturedly and started on his plate of food, thanking Yuren before he did so. The room quieted to the sounds of food consumption, including the undead man who technically didn't need to eat. It was a symphony of cutlery on plates for the next few minutes until the plates emptied.

"Well, I guess I'll be off to the battlegrounds again," Felfe said, a little mournfully but never discouraged. "I want to make 85 in a couple days, if I can."

"I have no doubt that you will," Kain said, and kissed his night-elf briefly before withdrawing. "Good luck."

The others expressed similar encouragement, and Felfe took his leave of the dining room. Footsteps pattered away down the hall, fading into the odd quiet of breakfast. And then, as soon as the footsteps were out of hearing, everything exploded - verbally, that is.

"I knew you hadn't done it yet!" Silya exclaimed gleefully, and she turned to Alyane and stuck out her tongue childishly. "You owe me new nail polish."

At the same time as Silya, Yuren and Lance had voiced their own versions, Yuren's being, "You _finally _did it! Took your damn time!"

Kain seemed not so much surprised as sheepish at their accusatory congratulations, but sheepishness quickly melted into his characteristic smirk. "Worth the wait."

The rest of the table burst out in scandalized laughter, except for Yuren who rolled his undead eyes and accidentally met Lance's. The laughing paladin suddenly started to cough awkwardly and looked significantly less entertained.

Alyane, who hadn't noticed this yet, muttered just loud enough for the others to hear, "It was, indeed, quite a night."

Silya only smiled and rested her head on the warlock's shoulder. Kain sighed at the images he really didn't want brought into his head and tried to nod serenely, embarrassed.

It was then that Silya noticed the odd dynamics still occurring between Lance and Yuren. Lance was staring at the undead man like he was looking at a nearly unattainable epic mount, while Yuren was avoiding his gaze so thoroughly that he appeared not to acknowledge the paladin's existence, even when Lance muttered something no one caught.

"Well, well." Alyane turned her attention to the last pair. "I suppose you two also had your share of fun last night..." She smiled mysteriously even as Silya hissed something at her about appropriateness.

Yuren froze, and Lance looked uncertain whether he should laugh or defend himself from the suggestion.

"I did see them drinking on their way to the guest room last night," Kain admitted smoothly, smirk resurfacing. "They looked rather smashed."

Yuren apparently regained use of his faculties, and snapped, "I was _not _smashed. I wasn't even drunk."

"You weren't!" Lance gaped, giving them away as surely as an admission would have. "I mean, ah..."

"Idiot," the warrior huffed, rising from his place at the dining table. "Go ahead and give them more to gossip about, why don't you?"

"Yuren, I didn't mean to!" Lance got up and followed the undead warrior, trying to slip a hand around his shoulders, which Yuren swatted away angrily.

As the two left, Silya said much too loudly, "I didn't know sex was possible for the undead!"

Lance looked back over his shoulder and mouthed, "It's possible."

* * *

Nahir was once again pretending nothing had happened between them, to Liam's lasting frustration. He must have been getting a lot better at controlling himself, because he somehow managed not to bring the subject up or 'corner' Nahir like he so detested. No, Liam had decided that any sort of retaliation would have to be sneaky. He was starting to recognize his mentor's weak spots - not just physically - and he would do his best to exploit those weaknesses.

For once, though, his intentions were more mischevious than malicious. Things were changing within him; the lusty need to obtain something, to own another's body had subsided. Now it was a challenge, a courtship like any other. He didn't want to possess Nahir - he wanted to please him, to make Nahir willingly come to him.

So far no good, though. The only times they'd done anything fun had been through Liam's own insistence. All he had to evidence otherwise was that kiss. On equal ground, Nahir had allowed him that kiss. No cornering necessary. But everything had fallen apart as fast as it had gotten out of hand. It had been enjoyable, yeah, but it had gone too fast. It was a blur. And he couldn't remember having the time to savor the intimacy, only the lust-driven act itself.

But really, it was a dumb time to be thinking about all that, since they were in an arena and the gates had opened maybe thirty seconds ago.

"Liam!" Nahir was calling him, voice concerned now. "_Liam!_"

"I'm okay!" Liam called as soon as he snapped back to reality.

The rest of the fight went off without a hitch. Two priests, one shadow and one holy; they went down like daisies under a heavy snowfall. Pretty easy, even if one of them - probably the shadow - had feared him off the bridge and made him inhale a good bit of sand. Urgh.

The holy priest was just falling as Liam arrived at the top of the bridge, where Nahir had been battling the priest. And the hunter started running, because the priest's last fear had sent his mentor dangerously close to the edge of the bridge. The fear had worn off, but Nahir stumbled back and...

Liam snarled something and caught the man's hand as he started to fall backwards. His other hand seized farther up his arm and he tried to steady himself, now holding Nahir as he dangled off the edge of the bridge. With an almost feral growl, Liam pulled his mentor up and, taking heavy breaths, seized him in possessive arms.

"Liam... this is not a very high bridge." Nahir pointed out, but he seemed amused, not critical.

Liam only held him tighter, getting his breath back. "Yeah, I know. Blame... hah... instinct." He released Nahir after a moment, but the priest didn't move away as he expected.

"Still, it was kind of you." Nahir mused, almost distracted, and he turned his eyes to Liam's with an interesting sort of focus to them. He was still so close, and the way he was looking at him, with an almost distracting curiosity, made Liam uncomfortably aware of his urge to seize the angelic face in his hands and kiss him breathless.

After a moment where he said nothing, Liam startled and replied, "Oh, yeah. Right."

Nahir's eyes narrowed slightly, but he smiled like he knew something his patient didn't. "Distracted, Liam?" He drifted a little closer, so close that the hunter could smell the clean, slightly clinical scent of him. It would have been disturbing on anyone but Nahir.

"Uh..." Liam was caught in the priest's unusually intense eyes.

"That is not an acceptable answer," Nahir murmured, and he shifted so their hips brushed as he raised a hand to... finger a lock of orange hair?

Liam made a choked noise of confusion at the spark created by that subtle movement of the priest's hips. "I... ah... what was the question?"

"Are you brave enough yet?" Nahir asked abruptly, the hand falling from the orange hair to rest at his shoulder significantly.

Liam took a moment to realize what his mentor was alluding to - the fiasco the day before in his office. "Do you... do you want me to?"

"To what, Liam?" Nahir echoed carefully, definite smile showing now. "Be clear with your questions."

"Do you... want me to..." Liam felt his face heat up. "... kiss you again?"

Nahir's answer was to place his other hand at the hunter's shoulder so that now he had a handhold that helped him lean closer, close enough that their noises barely touched.

A harsh intake of breath issued from Liam, and he closed his eyes. And then he felt a soft mouth against his, and Nahir was kissing him, hands moving to cup his face. Liam wasn't at all sure what to do, so he let the priest continue, kissing him warmly with their bodies pressed together like that. Liam froze up completely as Nahir's tongue flicked out to run along his bottom lip. Not to be deterred, the priest withdrew and then angled his face a different way to reconnect their lips, demanding entrance as he pressed himself against Liam persuasively. Hips and everything in between heated with the contact.

And then Nahir's tongue was in his mouth, and he was kissing back, his hands at his mentor's waist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. For a few blissful moments their tongues dueled. Then Nahir withdrew slightly and looked directly into Liam's eyes. Liam was immediately on guard, wondering what would possibly happen now.

Nahir stood still for a few moments, regaining his breath, and finally said, "I'm waiting, Liam."

The redheaded blood-elf could take a hint, but that didn't mean he was going to do exactly what his mentor wanted. With a smirk, he leaned down and kissed Nahir right at the side of his mouth. Then his jaw, then he tilted the blonde's face upward with a hand and kissed down the underside of his jaw to his neck, all the way down to his collarbone. He tongued along the line of the collarbone and felt Nahir shudder in his grasp.

"You're... not good at following directions," Nahir muttered with some annoyance, but made no protest.

* * *

Wrenn and Temarr wandered through Dalaran, discussing possible hideouts for the paladin. So far, they had come up with 1) Kain's mansion, 2) Bluebell Institute, and 3) a small apartment somewhere. Wrenn was favoring the apartment idea, as he hated to make himself a burden to anyone, but he wasn't sure. Silvermoon had beautiful little places with terraces and a few rooms, but he didn't think he could afford it on his own.

"Well, let's go to the portal room," Temarr suggested, still strangely absorbed in his daydreams despite what Wrenn thought a panic-inducing situation.

"Right," Wrenn agreed quickly, and they hastened to the portal room.

Or rather, the room where the portals used to be.

"Ah, that's right." Temarr recalled vaguely, tapping a skeletal finger against his lips. "I forgot the portals aren't here anymore."

Wrenn made a sound of frustration. "Temarr, this is my _life _that's in danger! She's really gonna kill me if she finds me, I'm sure of it!"

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Not Temarr's voice.

* * *

"Well that was stupid," Yuren grumbled as he sat down on the floor of Lance's guestroom. "You just had to say too much, didn't you? You gave them ammo for _months_."

"Yeah, I know..." Lance cringed, head in his hands as he took a seat on his bed, frustrated sigh audible. "Yuren, you just make me say things like that."

"No I - oh, I see what you're doing." And Yuren rolled his eyes, turning his attention to his fingernails. "Now you're going to feed me some crap about 'making you crazy' and 'I can't stop thinking about you'."

"Well, no." Lance blinked, but then admitted, "Although those are true, too."

"Listen, Lance..." Yuren started, with a scalding tone.

Lance waited. And waited. Nothing.

"... Yeah?" Lance verbally nudged. Yuren didn't reply; he appeared to stare blankly at the wall.

Eventually, Lance had had enough of this nonsense and he rose from the bed and sat down right next to the warrior. He waved a hand in front of him. Still nothing.

"_Yuren_," he prodded, literally.

"Gah!" The startled undead man flailed and, after noticing Lance's presence on the floor with him, looked over at the bed and back to Lance. "How in Hellfire Peninsula did you get down here?"

"What were you doing?" Lance asked worriedly. "You zoned out for a couple minutes."

Yuren whispered something, so quietly that Lance couldn't quite make it out. Then he shot the paladin a glare so livid it seemed possible to stun with it.

"Pardon?" Lance said sweetly. "Couldn't hear that."

"_Flashback_, Lance." Yuren snapped, and folded his arms like it was abnormally cold in the room.

"Ohhh... right." And Lance had the audacity to grin. "So you remembered?"

"... Bits and pieces." Grumble grumble. "Wish I hadn't."

"You don't mean that!" The paladin said, in mock offense. "I took every drunken trouble to make sure you were enjoying yourself. And I assure you I in no way violated your wishes... at the time."

"Yes, well... I was too drunk to make good decisions," Yuren said, right out of the blood-elven textbook, _Mana Up and Face the Facts_.

"You said you _weren't _drunk at breakfast!" Lance pointed out sharply. "So which one were you lying about?"

Yuren spluttered, "The-the one at breakfast, of course!"

"All right, I see how it is." Lance sighed, and got to his feet. He offered Yuren a hand, which the undead man did not take as he got to his feet. "On the bed. C'mon."

"What?" Yuren said incredulously. "What are you -"

But it was too late for questions, as Lance had picked him up and deposited him on said bed before getting onto it himself. Neither of them were armored; a lucky occasion since the paladin presumed it would have taken him too long to get all of it off before staging this faux-intervention.

Ignoring Yuren's scandalized protests, Lance crawled on top of him so he was trapping him with his hands to either side of the other man's head. "Are we going to have to do this the difficult way?"

"Do what!" Yuren exclaimed, squirming.

"If you _were _drunk last night, I wanna see if you enjoy this _sober_." Lance was even mimicking Yuren's speech patterns cleverly, stressing certain words and donning an overall unamused tone.

"W-well I..." Yuren seemed to struggle with himself, seeing he wouldn't easily be able to get Lance off of him this time. "Fine, I _wasn't _drunk last night! Happy now?"

"Very," said Lance with a grin. "Because now we have no reason not to do it again."

"_What_." Yuren was flabbergasted.

"If you weren't drunk last night, you clearly enjoyed yourself." Lance remarked airily. "Since you've admitted that, there's no reason why we shouldn't do it again."

"_You're _not drunk, though." Yuren tried to form an excuse, material flimsy.

"_I _don't mind doing this sober," Lance replied, lightning-quick.

* * *

**Next chapter will be DEVILSAUR-SIZED. Watch out, everybody.**


	18. Chapter 18

Hello again, lovely readers. Bet you've seen quite enough of my updates lately, hm?

**Reviewers:**

TheHomicidalManiac777 - Yeah, that part was definitely the most comical part of last chapter. Plenty of Lance/Yuren in this one though.

Copycat1773 - Hmm... you do make a convincing argument for Wrenn and Temarr. That'd be tough for me to figure in, though, because Wrenn and Paletress were going to be the only straight couple - plus it makes you see how Wrenn attracts the domineering, scary types to him, just like the paladin girl who beat him up. But whether or not Wrenn and Temarr end up together, I can agree they definitely work well together.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

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**

"I'm letting you go."

Liam froze, lounging against one of Nahir's festival-silk pillows. "What?"

Nahir rose from his desk and came around it to survey Liam with a pleased expression. Even his pleased expression, though, was as cool and methodical as usual. He said nothing, allowing his patient to digest the news. And Liam did, if not efficiently or particularly well.

"Wha... why?" Liam got to his feet, suddenly afraid for something. He felt the urge to go to Nahir and seize him, so tightly he would never let go. To keep him from going on.

"You're more yourself than you've ever been," Nahir said calmly, gesturing at Liam's relaxed shoulders, his natural bearing even when stunned by this news. "I think it may be time for you to try out the World."

"You think I'm ready for that?" Liam was cautious, but inside he was defensive, snarling. "I don't get it."

"I'd explain," Nahir smirked, showing a little of his unprofessional side. "But I'm afraid none of it would make sense to you, even at this point. All you need to know is that you are quite stable and quite capable of life outside this institution."

"Am I, uh, allowed to leave?" Liam muttered and looked down at the floor. "I'm still a criminal, right?"

"That label ceased to apply once I assessed your emotional instability," Nahir said. "You are in the process of recovery, and at this point I have deemed that you may be released. You will not be considered a fugitive or a criminal... I have already worked out the details."

"So I'm just gonna... go?" The hunter looked back up with guarded eyes. "Like, that's it? Show's over?"

"You are free, Liam." And Nahir hesitated, sighed, and gave him an awkward smile. "You may go."

Liam's body turned and walked toward the door, but he stopped. His hand twitched, and the next moment he was turning back to Nahir. He didn't have anything to say, but he felt a strange longing to say something. How could words sum up all the things that had happened since he'd met this man, his mentor?

"Thank you," he said quietly. But, despite Nahir's appreciative nod, those words didn't alleviate the pain in his chest or the way his heart was beating fast.

Nahir appeared concerned as the resulting silence lingered. "Are you - "

Liam stepped forward and took the priest's hand, silencing him somehow. He looked him directly in the eyes, took a deep breath, and said it.

"Go out with me."

* * *

Liam was inwardly doing the craziest happy dance anyone could ever imagine. He was just entering the gates of Undercity, cheered by the fact that his face didn't make people gasp in horror; in fact, no one really seemed to recognize him, as if he was a different person. It was so freeing, reentering the city peacefully like this, and he wondered how he could have ever done the things he had.

Grinning, he went over that delicious moment in his head. His dumb, bold words. Nahir's surprised, blinking eyes. And the blonde's slow smile, like he was watching the ending to a beautiful movie on the MORMRIS. And his secretive smile as he leaned in close and whispered in Liam's ear.

_'Your confidence is impressive.' _Then had been the amused laugh. _'I accept.'_

The hunter couldn't help the laugh that threatened to send him into convulsions, but he kept it short and surprisingly un-hysterical. He didn't want any guards thinking he had slipped back into his previous temporary insanity. No, he had better things to do now. Like get a place in Silvermoon, start questing again, see if he could get Nahir to do some more arena with him...

Oh yeah, and the total reason he was in Undercity - apologize to everyone.

It was lunch at the mansion, and Kain was not too surprised to see Lance and Yuren absent. Perhaps they were enjoying themselves a little too much after having admitted the acts they'd performed the night before. Or maybe he was assuming too much; you never could tell with them. Regardless, Felfe had returned for a short break - at 82, already - and was munching on one of Yuren's famous BLT's that thankfully had not included a severed finger.

Silya and Alyane were just as conspiratorial as always, or maybe they were whispering dirty nothings to each other. He wasn't about to inquire. In any case, Guanji was present this time, and he was in the middle of one of his stories again. Something about freshly-baked bread, an unfortunate mistake regarding a ring, and a warrior a penchant for zerging. But Kain wasn't concentrating on the story so much as his night-elf's adorable reactions to it. He took cues from Felfe's various smiles, nods, and gasps and followed suit in his own way.

Guanji had just finished the story - to Felfe's applause and Kain's belated joining in - when the door banged open. Kain was immediately on guard, as all the blood-elves expected were present, and everyone knew that only blood-elves banged doors open like that.

Felfe dropped his spoon and stood up so quickly his chair knocked over, taking his daggers in hand and falling into a learned PVP stance. Guanji had looked back over his shoulder and ran around the table to hide far behind Kain and Felfe, while Alyane and Silya had turned to face the intruder with their perfectly-manicured hands filled with dark and fiery flames.

The redheaded intruder held up his hands in surrender and cringed. "Yeah, I thought this would happen..."

There was a very tense moment, and then Kain remarked, "You are weaponless?"

Liam nodded hastily, hands still in the air.

"What are you doing here?" Felfe interjected before Kain could say anything more. His bright elven eyes were sharp and unhindered for once, and his body was coiled and ready for battle. PVP had worked its own effect on him in times like this.

Liam, to his credit, said truthfully, "I'm here to apologize. They let me out of Bluebell today, and I thought this was the first thing I'd do."

Everyone eyed him with no small amount of suspicion, and Kain took hold of the situation again. "Guanji, go into the kitchen and call the institution. Ask them if this is true."

Guanji went.

Liam's eyes shifted from armed person to armed person nervously. "Y-you know, I _do _have this certificate thingy, some kind of pardon I'm supposed to show people in this kinda... uh..." He trailed off at the narrowing of Kain's eyes, muttering, "I'ma just shut up now."

A few minutes later, Guanji entered the room and nodded dazedly. "He be tellin' da truth."

Alyane and Silya stowed their flames and folded their arms intimidatingly. Felfe sheathed his daggers but stood in the same battle-ready position, while Kain, beside him, didn't put away his at all. Liam looked slightly relieved, and his mouth opened to say something, but he stopped. And sighed.

"Okay, maybe this was a bad idea. I know you guys don't want me anywhere near here, so I'm just gonna go." He backed away, visibly trying to remain calm. "I just thought I'd try anyway."

"What do you want?" Silya bit off, refusing to meet Alyane's surprised gaze. "Why would you come back here, after what you did?"

Liam halted and considered them, these friends all united against him, and felt emptiness overtake him. "You're right. I'm the bad guy, aren't I? I... I don't know what I was thinking. I'm... I'm sorry." And he turned to leave, vanishing behind the closing of the dining room door.

As soon as the door closed, Kain sheathed his weapon and was already making plans aloud. "We'll call the guards and make sure he does leave as he said. After that, he will be banned from the mansion on sight, and - "

Felfe tugged on Kain's sleeve, and the paladin stiffened. "Kain, I know you don't want to hear this, but he did look sorry. Are you sure he hasn't changed, after this long?"

The paladin seemed to struggle with himself, whole body shaking slightly. "Don't you remember what he did?"

"Of course I do," Felfe said quietly, surprisingly wise in this moment. "But then, wasn't there a time you did something to hurt me?"

Kain, startled, seemed about to ask about this when he recalled the handcuffs, the flashbacks to Kael's twisted era, and the look on Felfe's face when he hadn't stopped when he should have. "That's..."

"And didn't Guanji slip me a rage potion by mistake?" Felfe persisted. "And Lance and Yuren on purpose with the moonberry jello? And didn't Alyane and Silya try to capture us that one time?"

All those mentioned, except the absent Lance and Yuren, bowed their heads guiltily. Kain looked sheepish, but at the same time afraid.

"What are you saying, Felfe?" he said warily. "That we should just let it go? All of what he did?"

"Everyone makes mistakes," Felfe said. "Some are just bigger than others. But that doesn't mean it's okay for us to say who gets forgiven."

The room was silent at that, as the others considered what they had refused to contemplate earlier. The night-elf watched their expressions, gaze shifting from Kain, to Guanji, to Silya and Alyane, and back. After a few moments, he frowned and addressed the floor stubbornly.

"I'm going to talk to him," he said. He set off briskly toward the same door Liam had just exited, to the varied protests of his friends.

When he had gone a ways through the mansion's halls and dismissed the others and their worries, Felfe arrived at the mansion's gate, where he could see an orange head walking out toward the elevator that lead into Undercity from the mansion. He quickened his pace until he caught up, sprint fading from him.

"Liam, wait!" he called out, and pangs of nervousness washed through him. But he knew what he felt, and he was going to do what was right.

Liam turned back toward him, stunned.

Felfe had to fight with himself to go closer, but he did, and the knowledge of how much PVP experience he had helped. He could take this guy, if he had to. But that wasn't the point, not at all. He came to a stop right in front of the hunter, giving him just enough space for politeness.

"We didn't let you explain back there," the night-elf admitted dutifully. "Please, tell me why you came back to apologize."

Though lost for words, Liam scratched his head and slowly started the process. "I... I guess you could say I'm not the person I used to be. I don't think the same way. I just wanted to say sorry for all the shit I caused. I didn't want people like... like you people... to be afraid I'd jump them as soon as they heard I was released."

"Are you doing better now?" Felfe inquired hospitably, despite the fact that it was odd to be hospitable when they were standing by an elevator outside the mansion.

"Yeah," Liam said. And he seemed lighter somehow. "I'm not afraid anymore."

Felfe knew it would be too much to ask 'of what', and so he only said, "I'm glad." And smiled. Because someone needed to forgive the man. "And I accept your apology, on behalf of all of my friends."

Liam, startled, eyed him oddly. "You sure? When I thought I'd just apologize I must have been a little crazy and - oh gawd, not like that, what am I saying? And - "

"We forgive you," Felfe said, and bowed his head politely. "Someday maybe we can all be friends."

"Thanks," Liam said mechanically, but he looked too shocked to function as he stepped into the elevator. The doors to the elevator shut and it sped away, up to the depths of Undercity.

Felfe watched it leave and shook his head, feeling relief wash through him.

* * *

A week had passed since the day Felfe had forgiven Liam. The night-elf was now standing atop the Lumber Mill in Arathi Basin, wondering just how much time he had spent in fear of that man. How he still might have feared him if not for Liam's courageous apology. He also wondered just how much time he had wasted standing at the Lumber Mill thoughout many of his battlegrounds. With a shake of his head, he looked out onto the basin and assessed the stability of various bases again.

Blacksmith needed help - when didn't it? - so he sprinted down the path toward stables and went into stealth. He could hear the clanging of swords and shields, the blasts of magic flung every which way, as he approached. As he crept along the bridge to see the action, he noted the undead warlock sitting back inside the small smith's building, writing slowly on a scroll, quill wiggling.

Felfe smiled and went to help his comrades reclaim the flag. He came out of stealth into a cheap shot, began comboing the haphazard troll priest, and then kidney-shotted. Turning only to blind an oncoming orc death knight, he returned his attention to the troll and kicked him before he could pull off a heal.

A killing spree followed in which the rogue slid easily from enemy to enemy - hitting two others who were currently occupied with a dwarf warrior and a gnome death knight. Felfe went directly from that into an adrenaline rush and took the priest down fast. The death knight was recovering, but he transferred his combo points and performed another kidney shot. After that it was a simple matter of comboing him down.

There wasn't a lot of time left. The score was very close - 1340 to 1350 and rising. He sprinted to the flag and started to reclaim it from the Horde. Temarr started forward from the smith building, raising flaming hands to fling searing pain at him. Felfe blanched but finished capping the flag just in time to cut the horde off at 1380. One more second -

1400 to 1390.

Temarr congratulated him with a smile. "That was close, wasn't it?"

"We had it all along," Felfe said, and gave an awkward cough.

A bright halo of light encircled him, and he suddenly felt adrenaline flooding through his veins. At first he thought he had activated his adrenaline rush, but then he saw Temarr's jaw drop. The undead warlock hastened to pick it back up off the ground, but the effect had been great.

"Gratz," Temarr said, once he'd fixed his jaw, and floated away. "How beautiful life is..."

Felfe just stood there, after the battleground had ended, and felt the strength flow through his body. He'd had it all along, but now he felt it.

"Muffins... eighty-five!"

* * *

Yuren thought it was safe to say, the morning after Felfe's 'Level 85' celebrations, that he had experienced the worst hangover of any undead man in the whole of Undercity. Maybe the World. Usually he wasn't very affected by alcohol, but last night had been ridiculous in more ways than one. Somehow Guanji had ordered a large statue of a half-naked troll woman pouring a jug of water into a model of Arathi Basin. The water, of course, had been replaced with Bash Ale, which Yuren now regretted having informed Guanji of at that earlier date.

Needless to say, everyone had enjoyed themselves - probably. The only memories of the night before, for most of them, came from the remnants of the food, drink, and countless overturned chairs. The magic brooms Silya had employed at her party had come in handy that morning, actually doing some work for a change.

The warrior sighed, putting his face in his hands at the breakfast table. He was grateful to be up earlier than the rest of them, as even the tiniest sound - of his own sigh, for instance - was enough to pierce through his head. He drifted off into an uneasy sleep that he hadn't accounted for.

Sometime later, he was awakened by a firm hand on his shoulder and a familiar paladin's voice. "Yuren? It's past noon."

The hangover had evidently gone down, because Yuren barely winced at the noise. "Yeah, yeah. And how are _you_ looking so... _okay_... this morning?"

"Cleanse," Lance said cheekily. "Works as well as I remember it. Not that I remember anything from last night."

Yuren just groaned and put his head down on the table again.

It wasn't long, of course, before the others began filing into the room, some looking better than others. Silya and Alyane seemed particularly ill until Kain cleansed them. Guanji was the last one in, grinning goofily even as he stumbled over his troll feet.

"Dat be da best party, mon." He sat down in one of the chairs, looking satisfied.

Strangely, breakfast - or lunch, really - wasn't as awkward as the one after Felfe's 'Just Hit 80' party had been. By now everyone's secrets had been spilled, and only Guanji's love life remained a complete mystery. But the troll insisted he liked it that way, and assured the rest of them that he had enjoyed the company of an unnamed troll woman just fine. Felfe had looked scandalized, but had laughed after a moment with the others.

Everything had the air of a closing, one of life's chapters coming to an end. When their worlds had first entwined, this night-elf had been helpless and accident-prone, so shy he hardly knew how to speak to people. Kain had been a flirtatious mask hiding his honest emotions and his past wounds. Yuren had been nothing more than Kain's caustic second-in-command. Lance had been a paladin doubting his own purity when it was his true caring that made him divine. Silya had been a thoughtless partygoer like any other. Alyane had been a cruel woman driven to torment men. And Guanji had just been Guanji.

But there was one beginning in the midst of all these endings.

"Guys," Felfe stood up and cleared his throat as if to make an announcement. "I, um, I know I haven't been here much lately, and I know it's amazing that I made it to 85, but... there's this other thing I want to do now."

Kain nodded sagely, clearly having known about this before. Probably from last night, before they both had gotten smashed off the Bash Ale. The others, though, looked up from their respective lunches with curious, some almost cautious faces.

"I'm going to Stranglethorn Vale," Felfe said firmly. "To become an Arena Grandmaster."

Cheers went up from Guanji, Silya, and Lance while the rest of them clapped politely. Kain, who had known earlier, gave his lover a fond smile and drew him down for a quick kiss. Felfe sat back down and proceeded to blush heavily. Flashbacks? Perhaps...

* * *

**Only two chapters left, good gawd.**


	19. Chapter 19

This is the second-to-last chapter. Whadaya know.

**Reviewers:**

Copycat1773 - Ahaha, I like! I might even use something like that. Not sure what Wrenn's fate will be (bad me, right before the last chapter and everything). Yes, I know it will be sad when I finish, but it's going to feel nice to know that I completed it after all this time.

MischeviousMagic - Yeah, Lance and Yuren are an interesting couple because of that. I think the only reason why Lance seems to have the upper hand - har - is because Yuren is usually too in denial, or too inexperienced, to do anything. Fluff? I've been planning some, most definitely. As for future WoW stories, I'm not sure... I had to quit about a month ago, and it's getting harder and harder to keep writing about it. The pain!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

**

* * *

**

It was nearly sunset when Felfe's gryphon touched down in Duskwood. The red-gold light gave the place a ghost-town feel, not that that kind of impression wasn't justifiable by how many zombies lurked around the corner. He called out his mistsaber - a recent gift from Kain - and awkwardly patted its head before getting into the saddle. He hadn't even named him yet, and it struck him guiltily as he rode down the cobblestone path toward the Vale.

"W-well, um..." He tried to talk to it, but he wasn't sure just how sentient the large cat was. "I guess I'm not a great owner, since I haven't given you a name or anything."

The cat, eyes focused ahead, gave no reaction whatsoever.

"Erm, so..." Felfe cringed. "Do you want a cute name, or a... a fierce name?"

Looking back over its shoulder, the mistsaber growled at him.

Felfe giggled nervously. "Aha, fierce it is! Soooo... Zalane?"

They started going off the path, into the ghoul-infested farmland, and Felfe shrieked in panic. After the momentary scare, though, the cat swerved back onto the road, letting its owner settle his racing heart and take a gulp of relief.

"Okay, I guess not, then." And Felfe just started listing heroic names. "Um, Uther? Khadgar? Kurdran? Danath? Bolvar? Turalyon? Arthas? Varian?"

The cat purred; Felfe knew because he could feel the cat's body start to vibrate.

"Varian?" Felfe lit up. "Is that it?"

There was a loud 'crash' as the cat plowed into the nearest bush it could find, dragging Felfe through the thorns and brambles as he screamed like a young troll girl whose lucky dice had been taken away by the local orc bully.

Gasping for breath, he tried again. "Turalyon? Arthas? Bol-"

The cat growled loudly.

"A... Arthas?" Felfe tried cautiously, hoping this wouldn't mean another trip through a bush or two.

The newly christened 'Arthas' purred contentedly and renewed his speed, barreling toward the bridge leading to Stranglethorn Vale. Felfe sighed in relief and patted Arthas' head carefully.

"Arthas, right?" The night-elf relaxed at last, and said conversationally, "You know, I'm not sure that's a good idea to call you that. After he went all evil, people haven't liked hearing his na - "

ROAR.

"Okay, okay!" Felfe said hastily. "No problem, Arthas it is!"

* * *

Wrenn didn't want to turn around. He recognized that voice. Even if he hadn't, the look on Temarr's face was enough to tip him off. It was Paletress, right behind him, and she hadn't sounded happy. He had to think fast or die hard.

Temarr made a few quick hand motions that Wrenn miraculously understood to mean 'I've got you soulstoned. Run for it at my signal.'

Wrenn awkwardly turned to see Paletress, and gulped. "What a... a surprise, milady."

"Don't _'milady'_, me." Paletress said, words cutting deep. She grabbed the front of his Argent tabard and bared her perfect teeth in what was definitely not a smile. "You and I have much to... talk about."

The next moment she released him, and proceeded to run in circles and scream in terror. Wrenn looked to Temarr, who gave him a grim nod. And then the paladin ran.

He could only remember running like this one time before, and that was when he had been chased by a group of gay paladins. This time was, if possible, much more serious. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he had to get away.

He made for the Flight Platform. It was only when he arrived, barely able to hear Paletress's screams of fear, that he realized the flightmaster wouldn't let him go anywhere. He was much too low level to be in Dalaran in the first place, and he didn't have any flightpaths here. Wringing his hands in a very uncharacteristic fashion, he started hyperventilating.

"Wrenn?"

_'Oh, Light, tell me that isn't...'_

It was Liam. Wrenn blinked for a moment and recognized the orange-haired hunter atop an X-53 Rocket. And then Wrenn blinked again. Rocket... two seats...

"Are you o - "

"Let me on!" Wrenn said desperately, looking back behind him with wild eyes.

"Uh, sure." Liam said with a raised eyebrow, and gave him a hand up. "Where to?"

"Anywhere, just get out of here!" Wrenn begged. "Please!"

"Okay, I gotcha." Liam grinned and gunned it. The rocket blasted off toward Dragonblight. Wrenn was much too scared to look down to see if Paletress had observed his escape. With a shudder, he put his arms around himself like a straitjacket and closed his eyes to the biting winds of Northrend.

* * *

"C'mon, Arthas!" Felfe pleaded, putting all of his possible cuteness into those words. "I need to get to the Gurubashi Arena!"

Arthas yawned and sank down onto the ground for a catnap, causing Felfe to slide precariously in his seat until he was more-or-less jostled off of it and into a nearby fern. With an undignified exclamation involving baked goods, the night-elf landed with an 'oomph' and then tried to disentangle himself from the large plant.

"Arthas..." he sighed. "We're almost there!"

Arthas ignored him and batted him away with a large paw. Felfe frowned, defeated, and turned to look at the road. He took out his map and tried to estimate how far they were from the arena. From what Kain had told him, there were Shadowmaw panthers and tigers up here, and then over there were the Crystalspine basilisks, and up beyond the arena were Mistvale gorillas, so he'd know he'd gone too far if he saw a lot of those, and...

He made an overwhelmed noise and folded the map back up. Somewhere after the first basilisks and before the gorillas would be the arena, which was apparently across from some weird old ruins filled with poisoned servants of some troll guy. Kain had told him to stay away from that if possible, seeing Felfe's knack for trouble combined with poisonous ghouls could lead to bad things.

With yet another sigh, the night-elf left his mistsaber to nap and started off along the road. He didn't appear to be too far from the arena, and he figured he'd know it when he saw it. It was an arena, after all, not a hidden cave or anything. His only enemy now was the onset of evening, and darkness. Oh yeah, and the countless beasts lurking just off the beaten path.

* * *

Liam had asked him, twice now, if they could land and scrounge up some dinner. And twice, Wrenn had refused with a panicked head shake. Now asking for a third time, as they flew in circles around Sholazar Basin, his suspicions were fully confirmed at Wrenn's crazy eyes.

"Look, Wrenn... are you gonna tell me why you don't want us to land?" Liam sighed.

"She'll... she'll find me." Wrenn said, his grip tightening around his own waist. As if he was hugging himself.

"And they let you out of the institution..." the hunter rolled his eyes, steering the X-53 rocket in lazy figure-eights over the emerald rainforests.

"I'm not crazy!" Wrenn said, crazily. "I was sent to work for Confessor Paletress, only I found... I mean, I can't say. She told me I couldn't tell or she'd... she'd..."

"She's gone now," Liam interjected, before the paladin started hyperventilating again. "Get a hold of yourself, yeah?"

"Right," Wrenn let out a breath containing all the ills of his situation. "Yes, you're right."

There was a succinct pause, and then the paladin gathered his courage.

"It all began when I discovered the cache of, uh, 'erotic' books..."

And sometime later...

"So Temarr soulstoned me, feared her, and I ran to the flight platform. Which was when I found you."

Liam, still wearily steering the rocket, held back a yawn and suddenly sat straight up, startled. "Oh yeah, okay. I get it. So can we land now?"

Wrenn, tired from his storytelling a feeling a little calmer now that he'd told Liam everything, nodded. "As long as you find somewhere hidden. A cave or something."

"Sure," said Liam, and angled the rocket down toward the valley below.

* * *

It was late evening when Felfe walked under a large stone arch and found himself within sight of a huge, ruin-looking place. Kain had said the poisonous ghoul place was small, so he thought that meant this was the arena. As he went toward it, he noticed a little place off to the left and glimpsed a few zombies running around. Ah, that explained that.

But _wow_. The Gurubashi Arena was really impressive from this vantage point, looking up to see its kingly archway and the steps that lead up to it. It was a large circular structure, and Felfe already knew the layout from studying the map but hadn't known it would be so... picturesque. This was the kinda place that a less experienced person might want a picture in front of. Something like, 'I survived Gurubashi Arena!'

Felfe wasn't that experienced, but doing that much PVP had impressed upon him the importance of subtlety. And not the talent spec, the very act of being inconspicuous. It was easier to stay alive if eyes passed you over. Still easier if no one saw you at all.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud, booming voice rang out across the Vale.

**"Arrr, Me Hearties! I be havin' some extra Treasure that I be givin' away at the Gurubashi Arena! All ye need do to collect it is open the chest I leave on the arena floor!"**

With a start, he realized the obvious. "The chest..."

Sprint came in handy as he rushed into the arena, stealthing when he came through the archway. It was nine o' clock, then. Rush hour. All classes and races were already jumping down into the pit of the arena to battle it out. Metal clanged, wood thocked against shields, and all manner of magic made the air buzz and hiss. It was insanity, and he jumped in at once.

There was a tauren warrior making a rush for the chest, so Felfe's opener was a cheap shot that stopped him in his tracks. Comboing for a few moments lead to a premature kidney shot that overlayed his previous stun, and he followed that up with a gouge that let him regain some energy. He evaded and tried to dodge most of the warrior's rough hits as he struck repetitively, until finally he performed a slice and dice to finish him off.

Empowered by slice and dice, he turned and hopped back just in time to avoid a blast of molten fire. A gnome mage with flaming hands stepped out of the fray and tried again to target him, but the night-elf vanished in a cloud of smoke and garroted the small man, preventing him from casting for a few moments as he got his combo points up.

It was pure PVP, happening all around him, and he turned to his autopilot to get him through it. After a while, the crowd thinned out - died out, mostly - leaving only a handful of hopefuls. An orc death knight fell to his knees and surrendered as Felfe looked around, going back into stealth and edging closer to the chest. He had heard it was possible to, ahem, ninja the chest if no one noticed you. But that didn't look like a good idea, because there were a couple of unoccupieds just waiting to pounce anyone who got near it.

Assessment: one dwarf paladin, bubbled, fighting a night-elf druid in bear form. Two blood-elf warlocks DoTing each other; they would die at almost the same time, he'd bet. One goblin priest shielding herself, and one draenei at the other end of the arena - couldn't tell what class.

Felfe stayed patient, and waited. As he thought, the warlocks both perished at around the same time, screaming at the unfairness of it all. Bear-druid managed to overtake the paladin, who ran away to safety while using his other bubble. That left the priest, who had engaged the draenei - now obviously a hunter whose pet had already died - and was making mincemeat of him.

Soon, predictably, the bear-druid interfered with the priest's battle and took the poor goblin lady off guard. Horribly mauled, the priest didn't stand a chance, yelling out that the draenei was a coward, among other choice words, as he too fleed.

This left only the bear-druid alive. He did a little dance to show off and then made toward the chest. Felfe readied himself for battle. He would open with a sap this time, then gather his energy and continue with a cheap shot, then the usual. Might want to pop adrenaline rush to get his health down quickly - those claws would probably -

A hooded figure in nondescript leather the color of the ground appeared and began stunlocking the bear so fast Felfe couldn't even put names to the attacks he was doing. It was like watching a dance, only one person was immobile for it. The rogue - he was probably human or elven, by his physique - was doing things the night-elf had never seen before. He just stood there, still stealthed close to the chest, and watched the bear's demise.

And then, when the druid fell, the strange man walked calmly toward the chest. Felfe started to panic, wondering if he could really take this guy, but... of course he could! He had the element of surprise. The rogue didn't know he was...

The stranger had halted a good ways from the chest. He folded his arms and said, without emotion, "You know I can see through your stealth."

... know he was there... Oh, muffins.

* * *

"I've got a plan," Liam said as he stoked the cooking fire. They were hiding out in a tiny cave, empty of everything but a few stalagtites and lichens. Shiya'mal, who had been called out after they landed, was stretched out across Liam's lap.

"Yeah?" Wrenn said, still staying as far away from the mouth of the cave as possible, and it was a small cave.

"So we go back to Dalaran -"

"No!"

"- to pick up Temarr." Then Liam smacked himself. "Stupid me, the rocket can only carry two. I'll leave you here -"

"No!"

"- and go alone," the hunter finished. "And then I'll bring him back here and we'll figure out what to do next. Temarr's eighty-ish now, so he can meet us wherever I take you afterwards. Maybe Uldum, huh?"

Wrenn pondered this for a minute. "Yeah... that's pretty far away. Not near my level; she wouldn't expect me there."

Liam rose and patted Shiya'mal affectionately. "See ya later." He gave Wrenn a nod and left.

Wrenn stared numbly into the glowing coals of the campfire. He started looking through his inventory and sorted through the various odds and ends. And then he found letters. Well, notes, really. Notes and threats from Paletress. His hand shuddered as it passed over them, and for a moment he twitched as if to throw them into the fire.

But that would have been a waste. He knew, if Liam had been there, he'd have said to save them. As evidence.

* * *

At first, Felfe thought he might have a chance. But the stranger soon dashed those hopes. He was too quick, too agile for the night-elf to pin down, and though Felfe tried to dodge as much as he could, the man kept landing blows on him. Getting desperate, he activated adrenaline rush and tried to brute-strength his way through it, but the man was more skilled than he.

"Who taught you to fight like that?" the hooded man growled, gouging him and bandaging in almost the same breath.

Felfe wanted to throw back some sort of defensive reply, but he wasn't very good at that sort of thing, and he had just had sand kicked in his face. Blinded, he wandered around for a few seconds before he reeled from the cheap shot. His opponent gave him no opportunity to go free; he was kept stunned and penned like a sheep. This man had to be one of the most skilled rogues in the whole World.

His vision was starting to go hazy, and he could see feel blood welling up, pulsing out of shallow wounds on his shoulders, his arms, his legs. The enemy had targeted nothing vital, though a death here would be only temporary. That struck him as odd, but before he could he could thin anything else, the man's blades struck him again.

This time the strikes were followed by a slam of the man's elbow into Felfe's windpipe, sending him tumling back onto the ground. Breathless, he lay there motionless and panicking. The stranger, in his sand-colored leather, stood over him, silent.

After a few tense moments, Felfe's breath came back to him in a great gasp. But he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the tip of a sword pointed at him before it gave him his quick, albeit temporary death.

A voice came out of the darkness. "Tell me your name."

Still trying to get his breath back, Felfe answered. "Fe...Felfe."

A hand grasped his suddenly and pulled him to his feet. Opening his eyes, astonished, he swayed on his feet and fell against the stranger. Surprisingly gentle hands steadied him, and with a blush Felfe thanked him in a mumble and took a step back.

"Felfe, is it?" The stranger's face was still shadowed by his hood, but Felfe could make out a strong chin and prominent nose. He couldn't see the man's ears, though.

"Yes, uh, sir." Felfe hesitated and said, "Who are you?"

Predictably, the stranger only shook his head and muttered, "Why are you here?"

"I... I want to be an Arena Grandmaster." Felfe raised his gaze and looked the man directly in his eyes, in the shadowy area obscured by the hood. It was unnerving to try to read someone's reaction with no eyes to express it.

"You seem determined," the stranger said coldly. "But your swordplay would suggest a lack of teaching. Where did you learn, to become eighty-five with such lack of technique?"

"The battlegrounds," Felfe admitted, and flushed darker, face burning.

"Ah," the other man said. He turned and began to walk away, toward the steps that lead out of the arena pit.

"W-wait!" Felfe called out, disbelieving. "Aren't you going to take the chest? You beat me, it's only fair -"

"No need," the man said over his shoulder, and vanished as soon as he was halfway up the steps.

Felfe looked over at the chest and went to it, hesitating because he felt it wasn't right. But he took the trinket anyway; he was the only one left. Eleven more, and he would be a grandmaster and fulfill this last, personal quest.

He couldn't help, though, how confused and hurt he was at the man's assessment of his PVP skills. He had thought himself more than decent in the battlegrounds... but he supposed this was different. This was World PVP.

* * *

A couple days later saw Wrenn, Liam, and Temarr safely hidden in Ramkahen in the back of a small home belonging to one of the farmers. They had paid quite a hefty sum to stay there for a week while they thought over what move would be best, both physically and strategically.

According to Temarr, he had feared Paletress for quite a time before she snarled at him and stalked off, obviously intent on finding Wrenn. She must have thought he couldn't go far due to his low level, and Temarr had been worried for him until Liam found him late and explained the rescue. In any case, odds were excellent that she hadn't seen Wrenn leave with the hunter.

Thus, Liam became the only one of them who could set foot outside in the daylight without some kind of disguise or visage-obscuring garment. The hunter grumbled a little at first, having to go to the market and get them food every morning, but after a couple days it became natural. By then, they didn't have much time left to decide what they were going to do.

Wrenn still had the written threats from Paletress, and he admitted that he could instruct a searcher as to the whereabouts of the 'indiscrete' books. That is, if she hadn't found another place to stash them. He would also, of course, tell the investigator about her usage of the catacombs beneath the Pavilion. He wasn't even sure anyone knew about those, and what she had been doing down there - to him! - was both unlawful and forbidden for her caste.

With all of this in their hands, Liam had suggested that Wrenn travel with him, and possibly Temarr, to seek the proper authorities. Probably in Silvermoon, as that was his native faction. And then, if all went well, Paletress would be the one bearing punishment, and not the kind she liked.

* * *

It had been a few days since Felfe had first met the deadly stranger, and he was surprised to be noting that the man's swift assassination style was in great contrast to how methodical and wise he seemed. Ever since their meeting, whenever Felfe would appear at the arena - usually half an hour before the chest was dropped, just to scout out his opposition - the strange rogue would suddenly whisper a greeting, the both of them in stealth.

Felfe never identified the other first, and the stranger said this was due to his choice of clothing. The sand-colored leather, he claimed, blended in so well with the arena that even at close range he was near impossible to see in stealth. It was a logical concept, but it didn't help lessen Felfe's nerves. Having another rogue, especially one like that, sneak up next to him was startling.

On the other hand, there was something going on that Felfe couldn't begin to explain. Not just the stranger's skill, but the fact that he had now let Felfe take every single chest that remained in the arena. Over the past few days, the night-elf had camped out near the arena and taken his sleep in short shifts in order to hit the three-in-the-morning and the early six o' clock battles. They had, of course, lost a few to other players who had managed to ninja the chest during the heat of battle, but Felfe had accumulated... a lot of trinkets.

It was very odd, that a stranger would do this for him. He and the other rogue would wait until nearly all the fights had died down, and then they would take on the survivors. But it was really the other rogue who finished them off, not Felfe. The man was so full of agility that he seemed to fly from one place to another. And then he would duel Felfe for the chest, and win. And he would always walk away and leave the trinket to the night-elf.

It disturbed Felfe how little he could understand of the man. He still didn't know anything about him. Not his name, his race... not even his faction, come to think of it. He could have been a blood-elf under that hood. Or a night-elf. Or a human. Felfe really didn't know anything about him except that he was a talented rogue who was not in need of arena trinkets.

Felfe had eleven trinkets, now. It was shocking to think that he had come to Gurubashi Arena only days ago and had already accumulated this many. In a way, he felt a strong guilt; he hadn't earned these trinkets. Yes, he always survived until the very end, but it was always the stranger who took him down, and didn't even have the decency to kill him. This was PVP, and he would not have blamed the man for making him walk back to his corpse.

He entered the arena yet again, at three in the afternoon while the sun beat down on everything. There was a sultry, overbearing heat today, not unusual for Stranglethorn. He crept along the side of the arena until he was on the opposite side from the entrance, overlooking the pit. Stealthed since he'd left his campsite, he was positive no one had seen him. And, half an hour before the battle would begin, he wasn't surprised that there were only two visible opponents. A tree-druid and a paladin.

Lost in thoughts of these two classes and their weak points, he jumped a little as a hand fell upon his shoulder. Still stealthed, he looked over to see a very faint trace of a man. Him.

"Your last trinket awaits," the stranger said, so quietly only an elf could hear.

Felfe put this into his pile of information, noting that way of speaking only the elven had perfected, as soft as the wing of a butterfly.

He replied in that same tone, both to see if the man really was an elf and to ensure the other present, however far away, wouldn't hear. It wouldn't do to give them both away before the battle had even started.

"Yes," Felfe said quietly. "I thank you for all of your help, stranger." He had nothing else to address the man with, shamefully.

"Your skills have improved... a little." The stranger shifted away from him slightly, giving him more space. "You have the potential to be a remarkable rogue."

Felfe whispered a thank-you, and that left them both waiting in silence until the battle.

* * *

Liam sagged into the armchair, surveying the view from the apartment's window. Silvermoon was beautiful in late-afternoon, and they had been lucky to get a place with windows. Temarr was settling into his tiny room, which he was claiming was excellent for writing because it was so claustrophia-inducing that it inspired mild terror. Wrenn was in the kitchen area trying to figure out how to control the fire elementals in the oven, intent on cooking dinner for them. It was, he had said, the least he could do.

It had been a week since Wrenn's rescue by Temarr, and they had demolished the situation, mostly with Temarr's help, by presenting their evidence to the local magistrate. Or something like that - maybe he was just a high mage. But anyway, none of them knew what had happened to Paletress, just that 'proper punishment is in order'. Wrenn only muttered that they shouldn't use any of the normal dungeon fare, because that would only excite her.

So now they were here, in a tidy little apartment in Silvermoon. Liam wasn't going to lie; most of the money had come from Temarr, whose books apparently sold very well with the undead. The warlock didn't seem to care much about money, though, and he hadn't minded at all paying for a large chunk of this place.

"What a year," Liam mumbled, reaching down to pat Shiya'mal absentmindedly. "Huh, Shiya'mal?"

The large cat purred appreciatively.

"Hey Liam, I figured it out!" Wrenn called, and the next moment appeared in the small living/dining area with a plate of chocolate cookies. "Here, these'll make you feel better!" He tossed Liam a couple cookies, and the hunter caught them expertly.

"Worth a try," Liam grinned, and began to nibble on one cookie. "Hey, this isn't bad!"

"I made them!" Wrenn said proudly. "I'm thinking of becoming a chef instead of a paladin. Chefs can be celibate too, right?"

"Wrenn, anyone can be celibate if they _want _to..." Temarr said slowly, coming out of his room at last. Then he directed his gaze at Liam. "So why does Wrenn think you need a cookie? Nahir will be here soon, I'm certain of it."

Though the mellow voice calmed Liam somewhat, he feigned casual indifference. "Yeah, he should be. Not that I - "

There was a polite knock at the door. _Nahir _had to be the only blood-elf who actually knocked on doors; it was common knowledge that they just banged them open, or closed, depending.

Liam almost fell out of his chair when the priest entered, greeting Temarr cordially. He had never seen the man without his flowing white robes, and now...

"Uh, hey." Liam coughed and righted himself in the armchair.

"Greetings, Liam." And Nahir smiled, a little, and turned to see Wrenn coming out of the kitchen. "Wrenn."

His former mentor was wearing a simple outfit, really, but it was the simplicity that made it startlingly attractive. A white linen shirt, unbuttoned slightly, and an azure silk vest. Some sort of complementary shade of cloth breeches and boots. It was very normal, and at the same time it was so strange to see him out of his regular robes that it was unnerving.

"Liam, are you quite all right?" Nahir asked, and went to sit at the armchair beside Liam's. "You appear to be witnessing some sort of miracle."

"You, uh, look nice." Liam said, and tried to look tough. But it was too late.

A sly smile was his only warning before Nahir leaned over and breached the short distance between them. A cheer went up from Wrenn in the background, and an appreciative nod from Temarr that no one really saw. Nahir ignored all this and kissed him for a couple minutes regardless, making sure the hunter knew the score.

Leaning back, the priest was satisfied and just barely haughty. Liam, on the other hand, was flustered and trying to pretend that didn't just happen.

"I knew this was going to be fun," Temarr said contentedly, and drifted away toward his room and his notebook.

* * *

"It's finished," Felfe said, a little mournfully, as he accepted his achievement of Arena Grandmaster from Short John Mithril. The grandmaster trinket went into his bags, and he stood there woodenly for a moment, thinking it was all so unreal.

He went to leave the arena, then, but collided when a block of solid air, stumbling back dazedly. "Wha?"

"So it is done, then?" the voice of the stranger came out of the air before him.

"I guess so," Felfe sighed, and awkwardly started drawing patterns in the sand that covered parts of the stone floor. "Feels like something is missing, though, you know?" A feeling of tension lit in the air.

"And what would that be?" the stranger said. He unstealthed, miraculously, and his hooded face looked to Felfe's in utmost seriousness.

Felfe, startled at the man's willingness to unstealth in the vicinity of the arena, said, "Oh, um, well... You see, I'm really grateful to you, but I feel bad if I have no idea who you are. I know you must do this for a reason, and it's none of my business, but -"

The strange rogue removed his hood, revealing long ears and tiny, complex violet markings beneath bright, glowing eyes and a large, wicked scar going from just above his right ear and across his cheek. A night-elf. A night-elf with silvery hair, done up in a short tail at the back on his neck for practicality. A night-elf with the same almost human-colored skin, lightly tinged with lavender, as him.

"My turn," the rogue said, and his bright eyes finally connected with Felfe's. "Do you know of Seriadne?"

Felfe couldn't contain it, and he threw his arms around the figure in front of him, trying not to shake as tears welled up in his eyes. "You... th-that means... Seriadne is my mother."

He felt the man freeze in his hold, and the deep voice was reverent. "Your... mother?" And then it hardened. "I... I am glad she has found another. Is she happy?"

"What?" Felfe pulled back so he could see the man - his father? - clearly. "Mother never found anyone. I'm... I'm your... your..."

"She never told me!" The rogue began pacing back and force in front of Felfe, a hand going to his forehead as if to try and calm the raging flood of thoughts and images. "Oh, Elune, what have I done?"

And Felfe told him all that his mother had revealed that day in Dolanaar. How even she hadn't known about Felfe when the man left. How heartbroken she had been, and how she would wait for him to return. Only now she had given up, and lead a simple life as the Dolanaar stablemaster. With only occasional visits from her son to cheer her, and yet she always seemed so happy, so brave.

By this time, the night-elf before him had wept, hearing of the despair he had caused his love. It was the saddest thing Felfe had ever seen; even the most fearless rogue, deadly as the sharpest sword, was deeply wounded by his own mistake.

"Is it... too late?" the man wiped his eyes on the handkerchief Felfe had offered him. "I became so absorbed in PVP that I went on that quest, but I was foolish. I have this - " He pointed to his gaping scar. "- to thank for it."

"But why didn't you come back?" Felfe asked, and his voice caught in the middle of it.

"I was hideous," the rogue said in whisper. "The scar, and the fact that I had let a whim tear me from her. Hideous in body and mind."

"It was worse to keep her waiting," Felfe said. "At least, that's what I think. You should have just gone back."

"Does she still love me?" he asked, so desperate it would have been hard to lie to him.

"Go back to Dolanaar," Felfe told him, with much more courage than he thought he had. "If you still love her, and you regret all those years you spent away from her... I think you must go back."

The man looked up, then, and gratefully. But then his face fell once more. "And you... my _son_, who I'd never seen before now..."

"Why did you help me?" Felfe asked quietly, determined.

The man smiled. "You looked like her. I thought, even though it was a longshot, that you might have been related to her somehow. But..."

Felfe waited as the other rogue took a deep breath of air and steadied himself.

"But Felfe, do you think _you _can ever forgive me?" his father asked, searching Felfe's eyes for doubt. "I never meant to... to leave my son without a father."

"Forgiveness is not mine to give, but Mother's." And then Felfe couldn't hold back the tears that were coming back in full force. "But... I-I... I would like to have a father."

Sometime later, after sharing stories and walking down the jungle path, they arrived at Booty Bay. It had been an adventure, that past week, and this was the stopping point. His father would take the gryphon to Stormwind and take the boat to Teldrassil. When Felfe had told him of the Stormwind Harbor, his father had scoffed and said such a thing was ridiculous, and he had a laugh at his father's expense. Much had changed since the man had gone into his kind of self-exile at Gurubashi.

"Here we are," the other rogue said. "I suppose I will see you in Dolanaar at some point." Bravely said, thought Felfe.

"I would like that," Felfe said, and managed a smile.

Awkwardly, the man shook his hand, and then made a surprised sound when Felfe pulled him into a hug. But it was worth it; his father seemed cheered by the vote of confidence when they withdrew.

As his father was walking away, into the tunnel that lead to Booty Bay, Felfe realized something very important.

"Um, uh... Father!" he called out, and the sound was odd on his tongue.

The man turned, startled as much as he was at the word. "Yes?"

"I, uh," Felfe blushed rapidly. "What's your name, anyway?"

They shared a laugh, sheepish and awkward as they both were at times. After a few moments, the man settled and told him.

"Iranis. Iranis Shadebloom."

They laughed again, and waved another goodbye. Felfe stood there, at the mouth of the tunnel, for a long time after his father disappeared from view. Sometimes he wasn't sure this was real life. But then, that was how the World worked.

* * *

**All that's left is the final chapter. Stay tuned, all.**


	20. Chapter 20

This is it. I will be editing the entire thing and posting it to as one humongous compilation. That'll make it easier to read and also eliminate some inconsistencies, such as the premature epilogue chapter in 'That's What Friends Are For'. It will all flow much better, I hope.

**Reviewers:**

11Dancer14 - Thank you so much! I really do appreciate it.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

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Felfe had taken another couple of days to rest in Booty Bay before he returned to the mansion. These past weeks, he had been pushing himself in PVP as if he had very little time to reach his goals. Now that he had accomplished so much so fast, his body just wanted to relax for a while. He was staying in the Booty Bay inn until he recovered fully.

Now, two days stronger, sipping moonberry juice, he felt so perfectly content with everything that had happened. His mind had needed that time to himself, too. He had used his rest to think on all the uncertainties, all the doubts that had plagued him. And most of them had turned out to be baseless after all. In fact, as he exited the inn and headed for the flightmaster, he felt that all of his troubles had melted away.

No, better than that. _He _had conquered them.

The flightmaster asked him where he was headed. With a hit of nostalgia he said, "Hillsbrad."

* * *

He walked through the mansion's familiar oaken doors and could already hear sounds of celebration. Pleasant chatter, the hum of musical instruments, and the whispers of taffeta filled the air even in the hallway outside the ballroom. Felfe took a deep breath and started for the ballroom doors, but he turned at the footsteps approaching from the side hallway.

"You're back," Kain remarked, relief evident as he walked up.

"Like I said I would be," Felfe didn't hold back his smile as they embraced. Kain's arms were gentle and firm around him at the same time, wonderfully protective. Even though he could take care of himself now, that would never lessen his fondness for it.

They pulled back, and Kain brushed a few strands of silvery hair out of his lover's face. "Everyone's here. I hope you won't be too overwhelmed...?"

"Not if you're here," Felfe said, and took Kain's hand before they opened the doors to the ballroom together.

It was as crowded as Stormwind on Warsong Gulch weekend back in the old days. Kain hadn't lied - everyone really was here. As soon as they entered, Felfe was swarmed by old friends and allies. Melinda wished him well and told him she was proud that he had grown so much. Yekkinji and Maren stopped by and congratulated him, with reverent looks that seemed so out of place on them. The messenger guy delivered a letter to him and buzzed off; Felfe opened it to see a personal gratz from him.

It was like this for at least half an hour. His closer friends, of course, were only giving him proud nods, obviously saving their own gratz for later, when they had more time to talk. And so the party went on, with music playing and conversations streaming along with pauses for food and drink.

Yuren, of course, had outdone himself again and made a ridiculous amount of food. There were platters of Highland pomegranate slices and sheep cheese, plates of buttery wheat rolls and massive turkey legs, and there was some concoction called Invigorating Pineapple Punch. Felfe had asked the undead man if this was a safe drink, but of course Yuren had only made a sarcastic comment. Something like 'my cooking is always _safe_, at the very least.'

There was even a goblin barbecue, which surprised Felfe because none of his friends were engineers or goblins as far as he knew. When he mentioned this fact, though, Kain only put on his pondering frown and said it must have been one of the guildmembers. Perhaps Lessina. Or Shavona. He said he couldn't remember which one was the goblin priest and which was the tauren druid.

This was remedied, of course, when Lessina the goblin priest and Shavona the tauren druid came over to congratulate Felfe, causing him to dissolve in giggles and Kain to offer his apologies to the two guildmembers at his night-elf's odd behavior. After they left, Felfe broke into fresh giggles.

At the two-hours-into-the-party mark, the ballroom doors opened to admit four newcomers. Felfe jumped, recognizing that everyone he could possibly know was already there, except... he _had _noticed that Temarr was missing.

And there he was - Temarr, standing in the doorway next to a spiky-haired blood-elf paladin, a blonde priest, and...

Felfe caught Kain's arm as he started forward. "Kain, it's fine."

"_Felfe_," the guild leader looked down at him with hardened eyes. "I don't think..." But he trailed off as Liam approached them, the blonde priest on his arm.

"Oh, my." Felfe whispered to Kain conspiratorially. "He has a friend."

"More than that, I think." Kain looked to be making a valiant effort not to smirk. His lips kept twitching upwards, reneging on his earlier frown.

Liam greeted them politely, cringing visibly as he offered his hand to Kain - who glanced away as he took it - and then to Felfe - who smiled and shook it gratefully. "Hey, I... I heard about the Gurubashi business. Great work with that."

"Thanks," Felfe said, and turned his attention to the blonde priest. "Nice to meet you, uh..."

"Nahir," the priest detached himself from Liam, who folded his arms and looked put off. "Pleased to meet you, Felfe."

"You know my name!" Felfe gaped, looking to Kain for explanation. The paladin whispered to him, slightly embarrassed, that he was probably the only night-elf here, so it wasn't hard to guess.

Temarr came out from around the two other blood-elves, dragging the spiky-haired paladin. "Oh, Felfe. I heard about the arena. Gratz."

Felfe hugged the undead warlock, squeezing an endearing noise out of him. When he pulled back he saw the paladin standing there awkwardly.

"Hey, uh..." the paladin stuck out a hand. "I'm Wrenn. I was in the... I mean, I'm friends with Temarr and Liam."

Felfe shook his hand, too, and said, "Pleased to meet you."

Seeing the commotion, the other friends drifted toward them, creating as much confusion as Liam and Nahir did when they saw them. Yuren tried to draw his axe but Lance held him back with a bearlike grip, waving awkwardly at the four newcomers. Silya likewise gave Liam a hellfire-filled glare but only sighed when Alyane slid an arm around her waste. Guanji was probably the easiest to fit in, because all he did was give Temarr a high-five and stand back to watch the awkwardness unfold. Felfe didn't even know how the troll and the undead guy knew each other.

There was a distinct silence in their area of the room as everyone looked at everyone else and tried to find non-confrontational, unoffensive things to say. This of course, then resulted in everyone speaking at the same time when they finally decided. The whole mess had to be sorted out by Felfe, who waved his arms and immediately, and miraculously, had the attention of the whole group of friends and enemies.

He gulped, feeling all those eyes on him, people who had wronged him and people who had protected him. They all had a place in his life, in the World. He didn't know how to explain that, but he had to try.

Felfe looked from one person to another, locking eyes with each of them before saying, finally,

"Why can't we be friends?"

The tension broke like a two-player turtle in Warsong Gulch. Most of them laughed appreciatively, and even the more serious - and anti-laughter - members nodded their agreement. In a matter of moments, everyone was talking at once. Silya was asking Temarr about his next book, gushing about the first one. Yuren and Lance were introducing themselves, as if for the first time, to Liam and Nahir - Liam and Lance hit it off well enough, and Yuren and Nahir seemed to immediately respect each other's seriousness. Especially when Liam made an awkward joke and Nahir snapped at him, and when Lance laughed at the joke and Yuren hissed at him to not make them look bad.

Wrenn and Guanji shared horror stories about women. Wrenn, of course, won.

And then the doors opened once more, and now everyone turned as one to see who could possibly still be missing. Two night-elves entered timidly, looking very out of place in the Silvermoon-esque surroundings, and then waved when they saw Felfe. A very spastic wave, from the woman.

"Felfe!" Seriadne launched forward, dragging the man with her, until she made it to her son and enveloped him in a squeezing hug. "Mommy is _so proud of you! _You... y-you've done so _well_..."

She dissolved into happy tears and Felfe patted her back, trying to take a breath despite her iron grip. "Mo... ther... can't... brea...the..."

"You're stifling him, darling." A firm but gentle hand extricated Felfe from his mother's grip. "My son can stand on his own two feet, after all. I would know."

A collective gasp rose from the crowd around them, startling Felfe because he hadn't realized they were all still there, and all listening. Kain edged closer until he was next to Felfe, eying this stranger with guarded curiosity.

"Felfe... who..."

"Oh yeah," Felfe let Iranis comfort Seriadne and her happy sobs as he explained, "This is my father."

Kain became a statue, face paling considerably, and it took a quick HoT from Nahir, done very discreetly, for him to recover in time for things to not get too awkward.

"Of... of course," Kain said, still digesting this news. "An honor to meet you, sir."

Iranis looked from Kain to Felfe, and a slow smile materialized. "Seri told me about you! I'm glad to finally meet you."

Seriadne muttered something like, "Well, you did just show up a few days ago." This made Iranis apologize desperately, under his breath, until she dismissed his worries with a quick kiss.

Everyone was enjoying themselves, and Felfe couldn't have planned it better. Nahir and Alyane were now discussing the psychology of lust while Liam tried to listen in and Silya jabbered at him about how nice the apartments were in Silvermoon and how she kept wanting one except Kain wouldn't let her because... and so on. Lance was now listening to Wrenn's account of 'the Paletress story' and suffering some major flashbacks to a certain dream involving the Scarlet Crusade. Temarr was reuniting with Maren and Yekkinji and swapping stories. And Yuren, of course, was berating Guanji because the troll had hauled in a year's supply of Bash Ale, as if the last couple parties hadn't taught them to stay away from the stuff.

And Kain and Felfe just looked at each other until Kain leaned in close and whispered into his lover's ear, "Felfe, you're the most wonderful person in the World."

And, even quieter.

"I love you."

Felfe blushed darkly, liquid sunshine and moonberry jello welling up inside him. "I love you, too."

**And They _All_ Lived Happily Ever After  
**


End file.
